A Sword with Wings
by Zaerith Vrinn
Summary: The Hound came to Sansa the night of Blackwater and made an offer to take her away from the Red Keep. She accepted, and found herself carried off onto an adventure songs couldn't prepare her for. Along the way, Sansa is haunted by increasing bizarre dreams, reunions and tragedies mark their journey and Sansa discovers there may be more to her growing affection toward Sandor Clegane
1. Chapter 1

**Author' Note: **This is my first fanfiction I've written for this fandom, which I have six chapters already written and posted on my Tumblr so I will be adding them pretty quickly here, but once I'm caught up updates will slow.

**Warning: **Sansa x Sandor SanSan shipping, plot rewrite and divergence, mix of book!verse and Show!verse. I'm leaving it as a T rated fic for now but may bump it up to M later.

**Disclaimer:** All characters and locations belong to Geroge RR Martin and I am making no money off this fanfic.

A Sword with Wings

Sansa fled down the corridors of the keep, she wasn't exactly watching where she was going, but it seemed her feet knew the way because she was at the door to her chambers soon enough. The windows lining each hall had given her glimpses of the chaos that was outside.

Fire lit the sky, and everything beneath it. Flames, both natural and unnatural reflected on the clouds, making it hard to determine where the boundary between land and air was. Embers flew like rain and smoke blocked any light not cast by the fires.

It looked like the end of the world.

_Yet it will all be over tomorrow_, Sansa reminded herself as she opened the door and bolted it behind her. _In the morning, the sky will be clear and the sun will shine. It will be a new day_.

As Sansa crossed the room she assured herself with this and similar thoughts. She moved a few candles and her hand brushed against a doll. She was too old to play with dolls now that she was a woman, but in her fear and panic she felt like a child and picking it up gave Sansa a small amount of comfort.

Which promptly vanished when a hand reach out of the darkness and yanked her onto the bed. She wanted to scream, but another hand clamped over her mouth, rough and sticky, covered with blood. Sansa almost knew who it was before he even spoke "Little Bird…" A familiar voice rasped, "I knew you'd come…"

Sandor Clegane sat on her bed. A flash from outside illuminated enough of the room that she could make out his figure outlined in an eerie green light, enough detail to see how much blood he was soaked with, and the flask of wine he had on his lap.

He looked like he'd been through Hell…He probably had.

Sansa was seated next to him now and he leaned closer for a moment, "If you scream I'll kill you." He hissed.

Sansa nodded and he removed his hand from her mouth, not to so that she could speak as Sansa had assumed, but simply because he needed a free hand to reach his flask. The Hound took a long drink, but said nothing when he pulled it away, so Sansa gathered her courage to speak. "What are you doing here?" She asked.

"Not here for long." Came the gruff reply, "I'm going…" She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't.

"Going?" Sansa was sure she'd never seen the man so drunk before, and she couldn't make sense of what he had started to tell her.

"Good Little Bird, always repeats whatever she hears…" He muttered, "Yes, I'm going."

Sansa resisted the urge to roll her eyes, she was a lady, ladies did not roll their eyes. "Going where?" She tried again.

"Somewhere that isn't…burning…" He replied turning his face away from her again to drink from his wine, his disfigured face was to Sansa and it was all the explanation she needed as for why now. The Hound spoke up again, more musing to himself than actually telling her his plan, "North, might be..could be…"

Sansa sensed a question, or perhaps a request that he wasn't asking. She never had sung him the song she had promised, was that why he was here? Sansa opened her mouth to ask what he wanted but a different question came out, "What about the King?" Surely Joffery would be furious if his dog went up North.

Sandor's head gave a small shake, gods he sounded so tired "The King can die just fine on his own…" He answered. The reply didn't really surprise Sansa, she noticed the Hound's occasional hesitance to do as he was bid.

He looked straight at her suddenly, "I can take you with me…Take you to Winterfell…" Sansa's mouth opened in surprise at the offer, he stood before she spoke though, grasping the hilt of his sword "I'll keep you safe, they're all afraid of me. No one would ever hurt you again, or I'll kill them…Do you want to go home?"

Of course she did. More than anything and now, with the battle raging outside, more than ever. Fear paralyzed her though, she would be safe if she stayed. Stannis wouldn't hurt her once he took the castle, but there was no promise that no one else in his company would do the same, and if she fled with the Hound then there was no telling if they would ever make it to Winterfell.

"You won't hurt me…" Sansa couldn't tell herself if she was asking a question, stating a fact, or had grown bold enough to give a command.

The Hound took a step closer to her, once she would have taken a step back or leaned away, but she remained where she sat as he moved his face into hers. For a second Sansa thought he was going to kiss her and shut her eyes instinctively, but his voice rasped out a promise instead. "No Little Bird, I won't hurt you." he pulled back and her eyes opened again.

Sansa thought of Florian and Jonquil and the song she had promised Sandor, at the moment the lyrics would not come to her, but she remembered that their story had not come without risks.

However, she had been without answer too long for Sandor apparently and he turned around, heading to the door in silence. Sansa stood from the bed and went after him, clutching her doll in one hand and grasping his arm with the other. He cast a sideways glance at her, not knowing if she was agreeing to come or trying to stop him from going.

Words still failed to come from Sansa's lips, but she nodded which was answer enough for the Hound. He unbolted the door and they took off through the halls together. He was fast and Sansa was dragged along behind him, feeling like a burden, but Sandor didn't seem to mind. The castle was still empty so they made it out unmolested.

The street outside was not so empty. Sansa saw no one in the darkness, but she heard shouts and the smash of glass, looters most likely, her heart skipped a beat. Sandor tugged her another way, in the meager light from the fires she saw a horse- Sandor's horse, Stranger. He must have ridden here straight from battle. It wasn't until that precise moment that Sansa realized that the battle was still on.

The Hound had deserted his king.

They reached the horse, Stranger seemed hesitant about Sansa's presence, but didn't make a fuss when Sandor lifted her onto his back. The Hound was about to climb on himself when a shape flew out of the darkness at him, "Watch out!" Sansa cried.

It was too dark to tell who it was; another deserter, one of Stannis's men, or just a looter, but Sansa did hear the clash of metal. She couldn't see the attacker, but reflected light on Sandor's armor made him much easier to see, which meant his enemy could see him too.

Sandor moved closer to her and the horse, Sansa saw something glint in the darkness nearby, Sandor spotted it too, and in a flash of movement that was so quick that Sansa didn't see what happened, it was gone, and a knife was suddenly on the ground beside Stranger. Sandor was fist fighting with the attacker now.

Stranger was fidgeting, wanting to buck her off perhaps. Silently, Sansa slipped off his back to pick up the knife, she sort of expected the horse to take off, but he remained waiting for his rider to finish the fight.

She heard Sandor grunt, the light reflecting from his armor disappeared behind another shape. Sansa's feet moved as if on their own, and the next thing she knew she was plunging the knife into the attacker's back. She hadn't realized what she'd done until she heard his strangled scream. She was frozen with horror at her own actions when the body was pulled away from her with her hand still on the hilt of the knife.

The man wasn't quite dead, but he would be by morning, Sandor tossed him aside and went back to his horse. He was speaking, probably bidding her to come to him. The knife had slipped out of the man's back as he was pulled away and Sansa still clutched it, deaf to everything except the scream of the man she killed echoing in her head.

Sandor grabbed her, hauling Sansa on in front of him as he bid Stranger forward. They galloped through the streets, toward the city gates. Fire kept most people off the streets, and those that were dared not get get in the way of the horse, especially not when his rider wore a white cloak. Sandor kept his arms around Sansa as they rode through the burning city, blocking her from unwanted eyes.

She was vaguely aware of his quickened breathing and his shaking hands as he gripped the reins. _He's afraid of the fire_…She thought, though that was obvious. Sansa leaned back a little, hoping to give him some small comfort as she squeezed her doll in one hand and a bloody knife in the other.

The escape was a blur to Sansa. A beam fell from somewhere, crashing in front of, embers flying. The horse reared back and Sandor cried out. His grip on the reigns held, which was good because Stranger had bucked with enough force that Sansa would have been thrown off had he not been there.

"Whoa! _Whoa!"_ Sandor got control of his horse, but he had clearly been more frightened by the rain of fire than Stranger had. They backed up and went around another way. Soldiers were gathered at the gate, they probably wouldn't have stopped Sandor from going through them, but he had Stranger passed them, leaving the city a secret way.

The steady gallop became a full run once they were passed the wall. Sansa looked back only once, peeking her head beyond Sandor's body at the burning city. The damage didn't look quite as bad from outside the walls, and Sansa wondered if Stannis truly was winning as she had heard. Too late to change her mind about leaving she turned her head back and faced forward as Stranger ran further and further into the night…

She didn't remember falling asleep, but Sansa awoke to the smell of hay. Her eyes refused to open for a moment or two, thinking she must be only dreaming of hay. Yet, her other senses started to work. She heard the sound of birdsong, too clearly than she should from her chambers, her mouth tasted foul, a side effect from how much wine Queen Cersei had made her drink, and sunlight hurt her even behind her eyelids.

The girl- no, young woman, she was a woman now, she needed to remember that- refused to open her eyes still. Perhaps it was merely a dream hanging about her. Then she felt movement beside her, a strong arm draped over her and a deep dreamy exhale. Her eyes shot open.

And the face of the Hound greeted her.

Sandor Clegane laid with the burned portion of his face buried in the hay, his eyes were still shut and he smelled of wine. Wine and blood, the two scents Sansa was most familiar associating with the man. This should have frightened her, yet the Hound's face was completely relaxed as he slept, his usual sneer and the hard lines of his face smoothed away, making him for a brief few minutes, look years younger.

She held back a gasp, and what happened the night before came back to her. She was not in her chambers, they had fled the city…And ended up where? Sansa wiggled out of Sandor's grasp, worried she would wake him, but the Hound slept on. She sat up and looked around.

It was a farm, but she recognized no more than that. Stranger was tethered in a stable next to a few other horses. She scooted a little and heard Sandor groan beside her. With her no longer casting a shadow over him the sunlight has hit his eyes as it had hers, and in a moment he was opening them.

It was clear he did not immediately remember where he was or how he had gotten there either, but he looked around and seemed to recognize the place. He sat up and offered only a vague explanation. "It'll be hours before anyone notices you're missing, and probably days before they start looking for you. I knew we'd be safe here for the night."

"Do you know who lives here?" Sansa asked.

Sandor didn't answer for a moment, "The wife and children were sent to Tumbleton a week ago, the farmer was summoned to the front line." He told her, "He's dead now, got shot by an enemy crossbow, or a miss fire from our ranks…"

Sansa sensed something unsaid in his explanation. "Was he your friend?" She asked, that would be why he knew no one would be home.

The Hound shook his head, "I don't have friends…" He sighed as he stood up, "…But he was a good man."

"I'm sorry." Sansa said, Sandor helped her to her feet. Sandor looked as if he wanted to tell her she was a silly Little Bird, but his lips did not move, and instead he turned away.

"They would have left some clothes behind, and those are too fancy for a woman on the run. The oldest daughter was only a year or so younger, should fit you…"

"Are you telling me to steal someone's clothes?" She asked, a little shocked.

"Looters will come sooner or later and steal much more. Best take what we can for now." He replied and walked toward the stables to get Stranger ready to leave again.

Sansa did as she was told, the house had no lock so it was easy to get inside. After that it didn't take long to find the girl's room. She supposed Sandor wanted her to change now, and picked a dress to wear while she packed a few of the others into a small bag she found. They were not as fine as she would have liked, but the Hound was right, they were on the run, she could afford to give up a few comforts.

Sansa also took a hairbrush from the girl's bedside, but she felt terrible about taking so much. She still had her doll from the night's flight, it was out in the barn, and she went to retrieve it, finding Sandor out in the fields releasing the horses. Sansa went back inside and placed the doll on the bedside where she found the hairbrush. Perhaps it would be stolen by looters, but Sansa hoped the girl would come home and find it.

Heavy footsteps went about the house, Sandor was looking for things he could take as well, but Sansa doubted he would leave anything behind as she had. Her heart felt a little lighter for leaving the doll, at least. She returned to the stable, Stranger was the only horse left, eating oats that Sandor had gotten for him, the others out in the field grazing. She dared not approach the warhorse without Sandor accompanying her.

A while later Sandor joined her, Stranger kept eating his oats and waited obediently for his master to finish getting him ready to ride. Sansa stepped forward to help, but Sandor put a hand out to stop her, "I wouldn't do that, he'll bite your face off."

Sansa didn't doubt that so she kept back, and stayed quiet while he worked. Sandor gave her the chore of getting one of the other horses back from the field, she thought for her to ride, but when she returned with a mare, Sandor asked her to put the bags of stolen items on her back.

Finally they were ready. Stranger gave a disapproving snort when Sandor lifted Sansa onto his back but once again didn't protest. He tethered the horses together and got on behind her, wrapping his arms around Sansa while he grasped the reigns just as he had the night before.

They left the barn in silence. It was still early, but Sansa caught the sent of smoke on the wind. Sandor didn't seem to be in a hurry and let the horses climb a hill at their own pace. At the top there was a road going North and overlooking King's Landing. Sansa's heart stopped when she saw the city.

"Gods…" Sandor breathed.

"It's still standing…" Sansa's voice shook as she spoke.

Fire still burned in a section of the city near Blackwater Bay, and a few buildings had been scorched to the ground. But far too many still stood after a siege, meaning only one thing.

Stannis's army had not been victorious…


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Again, these early chapters are only being uploaded quickly because I already have them on tumblr.

**Warning:** SanSan stuff, don't like the ship get off the boat.

**Disclaimer:** All characters and the world of Westeros belong to GRRM, not to me, I own nothing.

A Sword with Wings

The pair looked down at King's Landing in silence for well over a minute. Sandor could feel Sansa shaking in front of him, terrified. "You know, King's Landing looks rather small from this far." He said after a moment, "Sort of makes me want to _step_ on it."

He wasn't sure what he was expecting her response to that comment to be, a snort, a laugh perhaps, or at least to stop shaking, but Sansa only let out a soft frightened sob. The Hound bit his lip, trying to be be patient with her situation. She was a woman now, still experiencing her first bleed, which to his understanding made women more emotional than normal, or some shit like that.

He was still a little light headed, from the battle or the wine Sandor wasn't sure, but he knew staying here would do no good. He pulled Stranger's reins taking them away from the view, the pack horse followed his lead. He allowed the horses to remain on the road for a little while, but once the farmland started to give way to trees, Sandor beckoned them off the road.

He'd never admit it out loud, but his offer to take Sansa home had been on a drunken whim, he hadn't expected her to agree. At most Sandor had thought he could get that song he was promised and a good bye. Stannis wasn't a fool, had he managed to sack King's Landing he wouldn't have allowed much harm to Sansa Stark, perhaps he would have given the North the independence they wanted and hand Sansa over to her brother to assure an alliance with them.

Maybe, politics were not his concern, Stannis may have had another plan for the Stark woman.

All he knew for sure was that now that they knew King's Landing still stood, that meant Joffery was still King, and he would not forgive them for running away. The Imp, damn the little fuck, might be able to talk Joffery into keeping Sansa alive as a bargaining chip to get Jamie back, but Sandor knew if he was ever taken back, he would not live more than an hour or so after what he had said last night and that was if he wasn't beheaded on the spot.

Not to mention that he had taken the King's intended queen. She was just developing as a woman, bringing her along did not look good for him.

Sansa was a good girl, she would undoubtedly speak on his behalf and beg for his life, as she had her father, but that would do Sandor just as much good as it had Eddard Stark. His head would probably be placed next to Eddard, if only so she could despair over them both.

To spare them of this fate, they had to avoid being caught at all cost. They still would have a few days at least while the chaos that followed a battle calmed. As the Sworn Shield, Sandor had not left Joffery's side for many years, that might slow the King a little more too, now that he had no dog doing his every bidding. They could get pretty far away before anyone decided to come looking for them.

If they did at all.

There was a possibility that Joffery wouldn't bother, but Sandor didn't want to risk it.

Ugh, he had far too many concerns in his head for how much he had drank last night, it was making his head spin.

The sun had barely come over the horizon when they had left the farm, it reached the middle of the sky when they reached a stream that he had the horses wade down, taking them deeper into the forest. If they were hunted down, their scent would be lost in the water. Stranger obeyed, the pack horse had to have the rope tugged before she came into the river.

Sansa had stopped shaking and if she was still crying, Sandor could no longer tell.

His stomach gave a soft growl, he couldn't remember when the last time he had eaten was, but Sandor did know that he and Sansa had not wasted time breaking their fasts that morning. The Hound shifted a little on the saddle to get some dried meat from a side bag, emergency rations he had stocked Stranger with before the battle in case the war lasted longer than a single night.

He reached in front of him offering it to Sansa, she wasn't complaining, but Sandor knew if he was hungry she must be starving. The Hound could stand go a day or two without eating if needed, but he doubted the Little Bird had ever skipped a meal in her life. Sansa shook her head, "Eat." He commanded loudly, with just enough of a threat to suggest that if she didn't eat of her own will he would force feed her.

That was enough, Sansa took the strip of meat and started to chew on it. She was accustomed to much better. She would have to get used to much worse. Sandor kept his eyes on her, a few bites in and Sansa started putting larger portions in her mouth. She finished the piece he had given her in a few minutes and he gave her a second, his share, but she didn't need to know that.

He'd stocked enough rations to last three days at least on the dried meat, and the farm had some bread they could stretch out. Sandor was also familiar with some edible plants and once they were farther out he could even do a little hunting.

And if it came to it, he had some gold and silver to barter away at a village for food or even a night or two at an inn with soft beds and cheap wine.

Honestly, he could probably take Sansa deep into this wood and hide the Little Bird away for years, and perhaps he would…If Winter were not coming. Sansa probably hadn't noticed, but the nights were getting a little colder, Sandor knew they had get some place safe to wait out the coming Winter.

While concerns about the fact that he actually had no plan, and for Sansa's sake he needed to pretend he did, the Hound noticed that she was talking to him. He missed the beginning of the topic, but Sansa was going on about her family.

"- I suppose if we're going North there's a chance we might run into Robb too." She said, "Or at least someone from the Northern army that could take us to him. They might be wary of you, but I will tell them about everything you have done for me."

Was she keeping some sort of fucking mental list of the things he 'did for her'? Memories flashed through Sandor's head; when he had wiped her bloody lip, given her his cloak after Joffery had her stripped, saving her from those would be rapers, and even taking her from the city… It didn't seem to him like any of the things he had done for Sansa would spare his life if the Northern men decided that the King's dog should be put to death,

Still occupied with his own thoughts, the Hound forgot to listen to the Little Bird's chirping until she asked him a question. He hadn't heard it, "What?" He wanted her to repeat it, but she shook her head, having changed her him. Sandor gripped her shoulder and made her look at him, "What did you say?" He demanded, a little more roughly.

"I merely asked…" She replied softly, but trailed off.

He saw the fear in her eyes, it delighted him, it always did. At least when it was him she feared, he found it amusing. He frightened her, but no matter how much he did, she always had her courtesies, smiles and kind words. She felt obligated to share them with him because she was a Lady, but many of the women in the court did not.

They saw him as a dog, only Sansa ever saw a man.

Fun as it was to see her tremble, he had done nothing to frighten her this time and his patience regarding the question she had yet to repeat was wearing a little thin. Sandor squeezed her shoulder, "Go on…" he growled.

"I wondered if you have any other siblings…Besides the Mountain…" She finally spilled out.

The question took Sandor by surprise, and he didn't answer for a moment. Long enough that she turned her face away from him thinking the answer to be no. "I…" He said with a little hesitance, the Hound wasn't fond of speaking of his family, but he found himself unable to stop himself from speaking. "I had a sister once…"

_Had a sister once_, he did not need to elaborate on the mysterious circumstances of his sister's death, Sansa seemed to have no interest in that subject, "What was her name?" She asked instead.

Again Sandor was surprised by the question, but his hesitance to answer this time was for an entirely different reason. "It was a long time ago…I don't remember her name." This simple fact that he couldn't remember his sister's name made him angry with himself, ashamed, and of course sad. "Some days I'm convinced it was Jolee…But that might've been a maid's name…Or a whore's…Or maybe it's just a name I like."

"I'm sorry." Sansa said, Sandor didn't answer her.

He didn't speak again for a long time, and even then it was only to acknowledge that he was listening when Sansa started speaking of her family and Winterfell. He could hear the homesickness in her voice, he had only been in Winterfell for a little while, but it had seemed like a very pleasant place to grow up. Not like Clegane's Keep which had more frightening memories for Sandor than good ones.

The Little Bird chirped on and on, Sandor would have preferred silence, or at least a song rather than this prattle, but said nothing about it. After hours going down the stream, he pulled on Stranger's reins again. There was sudden drop ahead, making a small waterfall, and from there the stream became a river. Here would be a good place to make camp for the night, they were well out of reach of anyone who would harm them for now and they would be on the move again by sunrise.

Sansa got off first. She limped slightly, not used to riding for so many hours at a time, but didn't whine about it. Good, her chirping was annoying enough without petty complaints. Sandor had flint and steel packed in the supply bag on the pack horse and there was plenty of wood. His hand brushed something else as he grabbed the flint and steel, though, and he brought it out too.

Sansa found a rock to sit on and look at the river, she faced away from Sandor and he stared at her from behind for a moment. Sansa was a woman now, that had seemed a little odd to him, she still looked like a girl when they were still at King's Landing, yet with her face turned away he could suddenly see the shape of the woman she was becoming.

Sandor shook his head, it would be dark soon, he couldn't still be hungover, could he?

A branch snapped under his foot as he approached, making her turn to face him. She looked from his face to his hands, in one he carried the flint and steel, in the other he held a bottle taken from the farm house. "What is that?" She asked.

"Dye. We aren't the only ones in this wood and no one can know who you are." Sandor replied, bluntly "Wash your hair, cut it, dye it. New clothes…" He reached to his belt and pulled free a knife, the same one she had used the night before. "And this."

Sansa stared at the blade wide eyed that he had it. She had left it in the barn, probably hoping to forget about it, and what she had done, but Sandor knew she needed to keep it. That would not be the only time she would have to use it.

"Cut my hair…?" She said meekly, and a hand came up to touch it subconsciously, she was clearly terrified at the notion of having short hair like a boy's.

Fortunately for her the Hound liked his Little Bird with long hair. "Only a little." he said, "So it's not recognizable, or even, you can't have your hair that even."

Sansa didn't look assured but nodded. Sandor told her to turn around so that he could do her hair while there was still light. He had to undo the braids first, it was a simple hairstyle, compared to so of the others he had seen her wearing, they came out easily enough, but her hair had not been brushed that day or at least not very well, and it was knotted in several places

. Sandor did not know about the hairbrush she had taken from the farm, if he had he would have used it, but since he did not it was available Sandor instead combed her hair with his fingers. Even without a proper wash her hair was so soft and lovely…

Sansa's hair had been the first thing he's noticed when he arrived in Winterfell, so bright and vibrant next to varying shades of brown that her siblings had. Even her mother, who's side of the family she got this auburn color from, did not have quite as beautiful hair.

Sandor almost felt a twinge of remorse for what he was about to do to it.

At the longest, Sansa's hair fell over her small breasts and midway down her back. Sandor pulled it all over her shoulders and used the knife to cut it, deliberately uneven so that it fell not much below them. Sansa made a noise, somewhere between a gasp and a sob. For fuck's sake, she wasn't crying about her hair was she?

The hard part was dyeing it. He had Sansa tuck her head under the waterfall so that it was wet and easy to run his fingers through while he dyed it. He wasn't gentle, his fingers got caught several times, he spilled dye over her dress, and there were places in her hair that were missed, but his hands were completely stained and the dye mostly gone.

When he finished Sandor left her alone to gather fire wood. He returned and the sun had dried her hair enough to see that the dye had turned it brown, a shade or so darker than her little bitch of a sister's.

Sansa didn't say anything to him and instead watched him arrange wood for the fire and grab the flint and steel. Sandor stared the pile and held the tools in his hands for a great deal longer than he should have. He couldn't bring himself to strike the steel and flint together to make sparks that would start the fire

. He kept thinking about what he had seen the night before. The green wildfire, his heart started to pound again and he heard the screams of men being burned alive.

"Do you need me to do that?" Sansa asked suddenly, snapping him out of it.

He glared at her and wanted to say no, but his hands were shaking and he relented. Sansa left the rock she sat on and took over the job of starting the fire. Sparks flew from the flint and steel, Sandor backed away from them, and it took Sansa several strikes to actually get the fire going.

Sandor got up again and went back over to Stranger, getting more of the dried meat from his rations and a loaf of bread which he ripped into two pieces for them to share. He handed Sansa her half of the meal and sat on the opposite side of the fire from her. Close enough to feel the warmth of the flames, but he also tried to stay as far away from it as possible.

Normally small fires like this didn't bother him, the Hound attributed his problem to being residual panic from the night before. Sansa kept looking over his way, but something in his eyes was keeping her from speaking. They ate their meager meal in silence.

Sandor laid down on his side, the burn against the ground hiding it from the world. Night was starting to fall and he had closed his eyes to try to sleep when Sansa spoke up, "How long do you think it will take to get to Winterfell like this?" She asked.

He had no idea how to answer her. On the road it could take well over a month, there was no telling how long it would take off the road. He dodged it by changing the subject, "I have a better question: how long will it be before I get that song , Little Bird?" he asked, she didn't answer, so he demanded it again.

"I don't know any songs." She said, her voice was trembling a little, "I can't remember them. Any of them."

He made a small noise acknowledging her answer and the problem she face. He understood, wouldn't be the first time a caged bird forgot how to sing.

"I promise, I'll sing someday, when I remember." She swore, Sandor made his noise of acknowledgment again but didn't open his eyes. "How long until we reach Winterfell?" Sansa asked again.

She was so naive, so innocent, it was charming in a way. Part of Sandor wanted to give his life to protect that innocence, and yet at the same time the Hound kind of wanted to fuck it out of her himself.

"Go to sleep Little Bird, it will be a long time." He said vaguely.

Sansa didn't press, he heard her get down on the ground and crawl toward him. She stopped and laid next to him, between Sandor and the fire, close, but not as close as they had been that morning. "Sleep well." She whispered.

He didn't answer her again, pretending he had drifted into slumber already. He listened to the crackle of the flames, and Sansa's breathing. The rhythm of each one slowed and he almost thought he heard the exact moment the Little Bird fell asleep. He must have laid awake for hours still himself.

In his head he still heard the screams of burning men. They were so loud he could hear them over the explosion of fires, and from the distance of the wall. But as loud as each scream was, there was nothing he could hear more than the phantom scream of a six year old boy…


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** This chapter sees the start of some light divergence from canon, while following the same storyline.  
**Warning:** SanSan shipping, language, violent content/mentions of violent content

**Disclaimer: **See previous chapters.

A Sword with Wings

_"When a man's blood is up, anything with tits looks good."_

_The queen's words echoed in Sansa's head the whole time she was trapped alone in her room with Sandor Clegane. He'd just come in from battle,with fires raging all around him. His blood was as up as it could get. _

_"A precious thing like you will look…very,_ very,_ good…"_

_Sandor stepped closer, she was so afraid. What did he want, was he here to rape her, as the queen had suggested Stannis's men would if the city was sacked?_

_"A slice of cake, just waiting to be eaten…"_

_He leaned forward suddenly, his scarred face against hers, noses touching. She whimpered in fright when he grabbed her shoulder in one of his massive hands, but his grip was surprisingly gently. "Little Bird…" He rasped, and his lips touched hers for a brief second. Then suddenly he was shaking her._

"Little Bird, wake up."

Sansa's eyes snapped open with a flush on her cheeks, expecting the Hound to be in front of her face, but surprised to find out he wasn't. She turned, looking over her should to find him on his knees beside her "Wh-what is-"

Obviously she was being too loud because Sandor silenced her by covering her mouth with his hand and raising a finger to his lips. "We're not alone." He said after a moment, he removed his hand and helped Sansa to her feet.

She was almost afraid to speak, and when she did it came out so soft Sansa thought he wouldn't hear her. "What do we do?" She had no idea who was out there, Joffery's men? Bandits?

Sandor did hear her though and beckoned her over to the horses, he cut the pack horse free from Stranger and lifted Sansa onto the mare's back. "Go." He said, "Try not to loose the stream, but find a place to hide."

Her heart pounded in her chest, "How will I find you?" She asked.

Sandor looked her in the eye "You might not." He answered with brutal honesty. He drew forth the knife from King's Landing and handed it her.

The sight of it turned her face even paler and Sansa wanted nothing more than to toss the thing into the stream. He seemed to see that in her eyes, he shoved it into her hands and glared at her, "This knife is your life, don't throw it away." He growled, scolding her like a child. He'd probably hear the same rhyme, or at least a similar one wen he had been learning to use a blade himself.

Sansa gripped the hilt of the knife and her fingers brushed the top of Sandor's hands when she did. Her gaze lifted from the knife to his his hands, they were still stained with hair dye from the day before, looking almost black. Her eyes went up his arm and to his face, he was still glaring at her, seemingly because she wasn't gone yet.

She almost didn't want to leave him. Staying here and facing whoever was out there seemed like a much more safer idea than running off into the forest on her own with only a little food and a knife she didn't even know how to use. Sandor raised his hand an smacked the mare's side to get her to move.

Just as he did though, Sansa saw his eyes widen as he realized the flaw in this plan. The same one she was just thinking: That Sansa wouldn't last very long on her own and she was in fact much safer staying with him. She heard him curse and turned around on her horse to seem him running to Stranger, obviously hoping she wouldn't get that far ahead of him before he caught up.

Sansa tried to get the mare to stop or slow down, but something had spooked her. Probably Sandor's cursing. Sansa managed to get the mare to stop and turn around, she caught a glimpse of Sandor and Stranger behind them on their way when she heard a sudden loud _thwack!_

She was familiar with the sound of an arrow hitting wood, but her mare was not, the horse reared and whinnied in fright before taking off into the woods. Sansa just barely managed to hold on to her mane, and heard the thump of some of the supplies falling out of the pack. More arrows shot around her, hitting the trees and frightening the mare.

Sansa screamed, and heard Sandor shouting somewhere behind her, getting further away. Sansa gripped her horse's mane, trying to hold on, she saw a ledge ahead that the mare jumped, knocking her off balance. She tried to keep track of which way they were going but it was hopeless and she was starting to feel sick.

She lost track of how long the mare had been running when she suddenly reared up again, this time throwing Sansa off her back before taking off again. Sansa landed on the ground hard with a loud painful gasp. She was still holding the knife, and when she sat up she discovered her skirt had been torn and a tinkle of blood decorated her leg, apparently the blade had grazed her when she fell.

A loud hiss also informed her of what had frightened her mare into throwing her off. Sansa screamed as a large snake raised it's head from the under brush. It lunged, Sansa recated almost as if the whole event were taking place in slow motion. The wide open mouth of the snake came closer and closer as she inched out of it's path, she was sure she wasn't going to make it.

Then suddenly time caught up back to it's regular speed, and Sansa threw her arm forward, clutching the knife and slammed it down on the snake's head. She ripped it free and slammed it down again, and again, the snake was obviously dead, but it's body still squirmed. She kept stabbing until it stopped moving.

_"Killing is the sweetest thing there is."_

Sandor had told her that once. Sansa had killed a man in King's Landing and the horror of what she had done haunted her as she stared at the dead snake, wondering if the man she had killed looked like this. An odd feeling swelled inside her, something not quite disgust yet almost pleasant.

Thrill.

Sansa backed away from the corpse breathing heavily and crying. When had she started crying? A twig snapped somewhere and she got to her feet holding the knife out in front of her wildly, expecting someone to come rushing out of the forest at her.

Nothing.

There were few items that had fallen out of the pack when Sansa had been thrown by the horse scattered about, she rushed to pick them up. A small twine of rope, her hairbrush, and a small sack of what she found was the flint and steel.

Her heart thudded in her chest. A breeze blew some leaves from the tree beside her, she swung around thinking the movement she saw was a person. In the branches a squirrel chased another, and Sansa pointed her knife upward at them. She backed into the tree behind her so that her back wasn't exposedt he moss was damp on her back, but she could see everything around her.

Every noise that she heard sent Sansa into a panic, and after swinging around several times she got dizzy and sank to the ground sobbing slightly. Her leg throbbed where she had accidentally cut herself and the stink of blood from the snake's corpse was making her sick. She wished Sandor were here, or anyone for that matter, she didn't want to be alone in this forest any longer.

At some point, Sansa found that she had gotten up and started walking. Or, actually, limping was more what she was doing. She looked around, hoping to find something that looked familiar. The forest was filled with trees of all sizes, shapes and colors, yet they all looked the same. There were rocks and boulders scattered around, a fallen log here and there with ferns and bushes growing out of the dead wood. Flowers were still blooming, though not a variety of them.

No sign of the stream she had gotten separated for Sandor at.

For the first time Sansa understood why Arya and even queen Cersei had expressed interest in being born as men, or at least treated the same as them. She would know more about how to take care of herself if she had. Suddenly Sansa felt weak and powerless, and that feeling caused her tears to start fresh and she had to lean against a tree just to keep from collapsing.

She didn't know how long she stood against that tree, but after some time she looked up and wiped her face. Sandor would probably mock her if he saw her just standing there crying. It was then that she noticed the moss on the tree. She felt it in comparison to the moss on the tree she had been leaning against earlier. It was much wetter than the last tree.

Sansa had spent a few nights out on the Wolf's Woods with her family and a few friends. If she recalled correctly, wet moss meant water was nearby. This gave her a little hope, she was heading in the direction of water at least. If it wasn't the stream then maybe a river, something she could follow and find a village or town!

She limped on. The cut hurt with each step, and finally Sansa forced herself to stop and look at it. She wasn't an expert with injuries so she didn't really know if the wound was as bad as it looked. Regardless she tore her her already ruined skirt and tied up the piece of cloth around her leg.

She took a look at the items she had picked up, the only supplies she had. Her hairbrush, the flint and steel, the twine of rope and her knife. Sansa stared at them for a moment before she used the knife to cut pieces of the rope off, to make a belt on her dress to hang the items off her waist so she didn't have to carry them in her hands the whole way.

In a few minutes she had the sack with the flint and steel tied to one hip and her hairbrush on the other. Sansa was going to put her knife beside the brush, but she remembered her Handmaiden, Shae and the knife she had strapped to her leg, hidden from view. Sansa lifted her skirt again and used the last of the rope to tie the knife to her leg, on the other side of her cut so that when the tear in her skirt revealed the rope, it only looked like it was securing the cloth over her injury.

Sansa was sure there was better use for the rope she had just used, but for now, she felt pretty good about what she had done with it and continued to walk.

Hours later the sky was getting dark, which was a little disheartening, but she had heard no sign of pursuers or strangers in the woods, and better yet, distantly Sansa could hear the familiar sound of running water. She quickened her pace and broke into a smile when she pushed aside a branch and saw the stream. It had to be the same one she and Sandor had been following, she was sure of it!

She didn't leave the safety of the trees though, she crept only the edge, looking for a place that would be safe to stay. Eventually she found a hole in the earth hidden by a rock, a good den that appeared to be vacant. She slid inside and made sure it was big enough, she thought about getting wood for a fire, but decided it was too risky.

Sansa curled up in the den. It took a while to get comfortable,and it was cold, Sansa stuck her arms up her sleeves to press as much of her own body heat against herself as possible. She wished Sandor were with her again. He was a frightening man, and that first morning she had woken up beside him had made Sansa uncomfortable, but his presence would be a great comfort right now.

For how uncomfortable and frightening the night was, the day had worn her out completely and Sansa fell asleep shortly.

_They were in her chambers again, and yet they were not. In the odd space of the dream they were confined to the four walls of her room, yet she and Sandor Clegan were also on the burning battle field. He wore his armor, complete with the dog's head helmet, shield and drawn sword._

_Fire licked at her skirt as Sansa stepped toward him and the door. His shield was aflame and his sword had turned a searing bright red in the heat. At the back of her head Sansa told herself this was a dream, for the real Sandor would be out of his mind if this were to happen, yet he stood calm as she approached him. _

_The fire crawled up her dress, not harming her, but burning the cloth and turning it black with ash where it touched. She stood before Sandor, her flames burned out and leaving a strange, hauntingly beautiful new dress clinging to her body as she reached up and lifted his helmet to reveal Sandor's face._

_As always it was scarred and hard, yet his eyes were soft when he looked into hers. "Little Bird…" He whispered leaning down. She rose on her toes to meet him, pressing her mouth to his._

Sansa opened her eyes, not sure what had awoken her, but the dream left a gasp on her lips and her face hot as the flames should have been. She covered her mouth and pulled herself into a tight ball, the image from her dream rested under her eyelids and flashed before her every time she closed them.

Her stomach growled, she had not eaten since the night before last, and she had no food. Sansa determined that she needed to follow the stream if she hoped to find anyone who could help her, and set to work getting out of the den she had slept in. It was proving a little difficult, her wounded leg had go stiff and every movement made it hurt, but after a few minutes she pulled herself free from the den.

Only to find herself surrounded by a group of men on horses.

Sansa screamed, they could only be bandits who would rape and kill her. The men laughed as she tried to run, proving that they must have known she was there and were waiting for her to come out. Sansa didn't get very far when one of them got off his horse and followed after. Catching her by the arm. She struck his face with her free hand and wanted to go for her knife, but a second man had already reached them.

She was struck in turn and the next thing she knew everything had gone black as a sack was pulled over her head. "No! Please!" she begged and screamed, hoping against hope that Sandor was out there somewhere to help her.

She was pulled back toward the group, and her arms tied to her sides while her captors only laughed and mocked her attempts to struggle free. She expected to be gang raped, and was a little surprised to be pulled onto a horse. She was held by one man who sang over her pleas to be released, and her throat went dry forcing her to stop and cry silently.

With the bag over her head, they could have been riding for hours or only a few minutes and Sansa wouldn't have known the difference. She tried to listen to the conversations of her captors, but could barely hear anything through the sack and the one man's singing. Finally she was pulled roughly down from the horse and the sack ripped off her head.

She didn't even try to hide the fact that she was still crying. To her surprise that Sandor was in front of her, and a small cry of joy escaped her lips, though she regretted it when she saw that he too was tied up. If he reaction didn't give them away as knowing each other, Sandor's relieved look upon seeing her alive did, as did his concerned step forward when the man who held her suddenly put a knife to her throat.

"What's your name, girl?" He demanded, letting his blade bury itse;f just deeply enough into her skin to make Sansa gasp.

Sandor growled, _"Get your hands off her!"_

The group chuckled, there were at least eight on horseback, four men walking and three boys stood by the horses, Stranger the last in the line, making unhappy noises about being tied to the group. The two bigger boys blocked the third smallest from view but he was trying very hard to peek over their shoulders.

Sansa had just enough time to notice that they were still in the forest when the man behind her pulled her hair, making fresh tear sting at her eyes. "I said: What's your name girl?" He demanded again.

"Jolee!" She cried out, using the first name that came to her mind that wasn't her real one.

The man stroked her hair this time, which made her even more nervous than when he had yanked on it. "Good girl…" He whispered, "Jolee what?"

Sansa felt the blade stinging at her neck again and her heart pounded in her ears, "Jolee…Clegane." She answered and nodded to Sandor as she did, "His wife."

She was a terrible liar, Sandor had told her that more than once, but Sansa wasn't sure if it was the lie that slipped out of her mouth that caused the abrupt round of laughter from the men, or the look of shock the came over Sandor's face when she said it.

"Looks like this is news to him!" One of the men on horseback said.

A man standing near Sandor continued mockingly, "And far too young and pretty for the Hound." He laughed, "Unless this is what you like, eh Dog? Fucking little girls, is that your deal?"

Sandor only snarled at them, "She's his whore more likely," The man holding Sansa said, moving his hand downward to caress her hip and make her whimper.

Only then did Sandor actually say anything, "_Don't touch her_!" He barked.

"Or what?" He replied, obviously thinking that the bound man could do him no harm. His hand left Sansa's hip and traveled up her side to her breast which he then grabbed and squeezed.

Sansa shrieked and thrust her hand back, grabbing him by his balls and pulling as hard as she could. The man yelped in pain and released her, Sansa wasted no time in running. She was caught by another man fairly quickly, but at least she was away from her molester.

"You fucking cunt!" The man she had attacked screamed, "I oughtta-"

She was forced to turn around just in time to see Sandor run forward and ram the man who had groped her. The Hound out weighted him and easily knocked him to the ground. A second man came forward to try and pull Sandor back, but he only lashed out with his legs, knocking him off his feet as well, on to the first man.

Unfortunately for both of them, the first man had drawn his sword, and when the second fell upon him he was impaled on it. The weight of his companion knocked him back again, and there was a sickening crack as the man's head hit the rock beneath him. Both of them moved no more.

There was stunned silence for a minute before Sandor turned from the dead men, "Anyone else?" He spat.

Men murmured to themselves and Sansa was push forward. Her initial response was to stiffen, fearing the worst but she was placed beside Sandor and she wiggled her arm to touch his. "What do we do now?" One of the men on horseback asked.

They all turned to the apparent leader of the group. The man made a thoughtful noise then pointed to Sandor, "Get the Hound back on his demon horse and find one for his bitch." He ordered, no one jumped up at the thought of getting anywhere near Stranger, but a few men did come forward to lead Sandor away. "We'll take them to the Brotherhood and Lord Beric can decide what to do with them, and the Stark girl too."

Sansa's blood turned to ice when he said the name Stark, but Sandor shook his head and gave a subtle nod behind her as he was taken away. Sansa turned and a man was bringing a sack toward her, but beyond him were the three boys she had seen before. The smallest boy was no longer hidden behind the other two and Sansa could see him clearly.

No, not him…_her_.

Arya…


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note:** While this story is largely going to be from Sansa's pov, I am trying to shift perspectives every couple of chapters, I've done 1 from Sandor's pov and this is the first Arya, but so far all the other have been Sansa's

**Warning:** Arya's pov, language violence, yada

**Disclaimer:** look at that, everyone and everything in this story is still copywrite to George RR Martin and not to me. Amazing.

A Sword with Wings

The traveling arrangements had to be modified when the Hound's horse threw a fit upon seeing 'Jolee' being led to another mount. It seemed the warhorse played by his own rules, and had become accustomed to carrying both his rider and his companion, thus became irrationally angry when they tried to put her on another horse. He broke loose and kicked a man in the chest, snorting fiercely until Sandor Clegane was able to calm him and it was decided that Jolee should ride with him.

Arya was not at _all_ happy with that arrangement.

She had recognized her sister's voice when the men brought her forward, and had been more that a little surprised to see her hair cut and dyed. Then again, Sansa would surly be in for a shock to see what had happened to _her_ hair.

It had taken all of Arya's will not to call out for her sister.

The Hound had been captured the previous morning. He had identified her as 'the Stark bitch', and after some unnecessary comments were exchanged, the brotherhood had decided to get a move on. Arya had heard them mention something about a female companion seen with him, that a small group had been sent out to search for.

The men had a theory that the Hound was trying to buy her time to escape, but Arya had never expected it to be Sansa. Especially not with the way the group insinuated a relationship between them

It was bad enough that the brotherhood called her sister his whore, or referred to them as 'the Hound and his Bitch', but actually seeing them riding together just infuriated the younger Stark sister. Sansa was placed on Stranger behind Sandor, both were still tied up with bags over their heads, but Sansa had done her best to wrap her arms around his waist- for support Arya told herself, because she could see Sansa shaking, even at this distance.

The Hound reaching up to place his hand on Sansa's with a reassuring grip, however, the younger Stark could not explain though. The men used it as further grounds to mock the Hound's fondness for his whore, though. Arya wanted to scream at them not to talk about her sister that way, but that would only get Sansa in more trouble than she already was. They already had one of the Stark girls, they didn't need them both.

Arya rode with no bag on her head, so far she was not a prisoner, at least not in the same way the Hound and Sansa were. The man she was currently riding with pulled his horse closer to them, getting a disapproving grunt from the warhorse.

She could hear the Hound's muffled voice under his sack, but it was her riding companion that actually caught at least part of what he said. "What did you just call her?" Arya's stomach flipped, terrified that the Hound had exposed Sansa, but the man only laughed and shouted for the whole group to hear "He calls her_ Little Bird_, isn't that _sweet?_ A big Hound and a Little Bird!" The party howled with ridiculing laughter.

Ugh, it made Arya sick.

About mid-day the caravan stopped at a familiar Inn on the roadside. It took Arya a moment to remember why she recognized the place, but when she did her heart stopped for a second. The Brotherhood paid for everyone to have a small meal. Arya tried to sit close to Sansa, but the Hound had already taken the seat directly beside her and men from the Brotherhood beckoned her away from them.

She kept looking over at her sister, who devoured the small bowl of of soup and bread as if it were the first thing she had to eat in days. Sansa looked up only once and caught Arya's eye, the sisters shared only a brief look at each other, but Arya knew that she recognized the inn as well. The Hound, though, ate his soup without giving the place a second glance, talking loudly to his captors about weapons and preferred fighting styles.

As infuriated as Arya was that the Hound was anywhere near her sister, it paled in comparison to how angry she was that he did not acknowledge what he had done here. She wanted to scream and curse at him, to take a sword from one of the brothers and run him through with it.

_He killed Myca…!_

That thought echoed in her head the whole visit at the inn. Gendry and Hot Pie tried to talk to her, but Arya didn't listen. Hot Pie eventually left their table, she'd heard him say something about the kitchens. After that she and Gendry were pushed around by the brotherhood, made to do chores for them while they packed up to leave. Arya lost sight of Sansa, but she did see the Hound as he was escorted to a cart that the brotherhood had bought. Somehow they were still talking about fighting.

"Hey!" She called, the Hound barely glanced at her, she glared up at him, "Do you remember the last time you were here?"

_He killed Myca!_

The Hound was tied up again, and looked around obviously not realizing that he had in fact been here before. He shrugged slightly through his binds,"Seems like every other shit inn on the road." He replied gruffly,

The men escorting him yanked the Hound away before say a word on why this place should be familiar to him. Arya hurried after them angrily, about to openly call him out on the murder of her friend when she saw that Sansa had already been put into the same cart that the Hound was being pushed toward.

Sansa's face was uncovered, but still bound up. A sack was placed back over the Hound's head, and he was shoved into the cart beside Arya's sister. Due to his height though, the Hound's head was rammed into a bar of wood covering the top. Arya snorted when she saw it, but her smile faded when he sat down and Sansa's first response was to touch his arm in a concerned fashion. Arya couldn't hear her, but Sansa said something that looked very much like the question 'Are you alright?'.

That was the last she saw before the door was closed behind the prisoners.

"What do we do with his horse?" Someone asked.

"Eh, just leave the beast here, he's not gonna need it." Came the reply. If only it were that easy though, Stranger burst out of the stables and refused to be left behind. No one could get close enough to him to send the horse back or tie him to the others, so the warhorse was left to follow the caravan at a distance.

Arya was sent back to stand with Gendry while final preparations for departure were made. "Where's Hot Pie?"

"There." Gendry pointed toward the inn, the other boy was just coming out with a plateful of bread.

"What are you doing?" Arya asked as she came forward to meet him, "We're about to leave."

Hot Pie's eyes drifted downward to the plate he carried, "I'm staying." he said. Both Arya and Gendry's jaws dropped slightly, but it was Gendry that asked why. Hot Pie explained how he had baked bread for the innkeeper and was sold to her in exchange for the free meals she gave the brotherhood. "Besides, it's not me the brotherhood wants, my brother's no king."

"Oi! Get a move on!" One of the brother's called out, Arya looked back only for a moment, but Hot Pie grabbed her hand to make her turn again.

"I made you something." He said and handed her the bread on the plate he had brought. It was an odd shape to be sure, but it wasn't until Hot Pie identified it that she realized it was supposed to be a wolf.

Arya wished they had more time to say good bye, but before long she was being pulled away to get back on the horse. She took a bite of the bread, it tasted wonderful. "Hey Hot Pie!" She called back, "It's really _good!" _They had already covered some distance between them and the inn, but Arya could see Hot Pie smile. She remained with her back turned as long as she could, watching Hot Pie turn around and return inside.

Tears stung at her eyes, but she refused to cry. It seemed that no matter what, Arya always lost her friends.

They stopped again hours later because a wheel on the wagon had broken while going over a rock. While a few worked at getting it fixed, while others started pass out small portions of food amongst each other, Arya and Gendry helped distribute it. Without explaining why, Arya told Gendry to allow her to take a small bag of dried fruit to the prisoners in the Wagon. She could see the question in Gendry's eyes, but just made a 'shhing' motion. "I'll tell you later." She mouthed.

Arya made a show of avoiding going to the cart, making sure all the brothers had gotten their share first before she opened the cart and slipped inside. The Hound's sack was still on his head, leaned back presumably asleep, Sansa obviously was. She was slumped over, head resting on the big man's arm her face was red, like she had been crying recently.

The door clicked shut behind her, Sansa jumped awake looking terrified, but her expression shifted when she saw who it was. "Arya!" She gasped, and fresh tears spilled over her eyes. Arya hushed her like she had Gendry, but came over to embrace her sister, accepting a hug as tight as Sansa's binds would allow.

"How did you get here? What happened to you?" Sansa whispered.

"That's a long story and there isn't time to tell it." Arya replied, wiping tears out of her own eyes, "What about you, how long have you been away from King's Landing?"

Sansa's smile dropped as she answered, "Only a few days. Stannis's army attacked," she nodded to the Hound, "he came to get me before the war was over and we escaped during the battle."

wanted to ask how she could possibly trust him, but that would have to wait. "They're probably going to kill him." She said, talking about the Brotherhood, she wouldn't mind that, but she worried about Sansa "Maybe you too, seeing as they think you're his…you know…"

Sansa shook her head, "No, if they try, he'll kill them first." She said.

"You need to get out of here." Arya said, "I don't know where they're taking us, but when it gets dark I'll see if I can get a knife or something to cut those ropes-"

Her sister surprised her when she suddenly shifted and lifted her skirt a little to reveal a knife strapped to Sansa's leg. "-we've already got a plan." She said, "When night falls, he's going to cut me loose, we'll come get you and we can escape together."

Arya's eyes widened, partly at the sight of Sansa with a knife, and partly at the realization that getting her ropes cut would involve the Hound's hand going between her legs. She couldn't stop herself, "No, wait for me to get you!" She hissed.

"Why?" Sansa asked.

Se was speechless for a second, trying to come up with a reason to wait, "I…have a friend, Gendry. He'll come with us, we can keep a look out. If you are on your own you might accidentally open the door right as a nightwatchmen looks at you."

"And you might wake up the lot of them just sneaking around." This answer came from under the sack, apparently Arya was wrong in assuming that the Hound was asleep. "Like how you just woke me up." Or not.

"I won't." Arya said angrily, she wanted nothing more than to sneak in here in the night, grab Sansa and leave him to the Brotherhood.

The Hound chuckled under his sack, but said nothing more.

"Is Stranger still following us?" Sansa asked.

"Yes."

"Doesn't matter, he's a strong horse, but even Stranger can't carry four people." The Hound said.

"We'll steal another one." Arya snapped back.

Before another word could get put in from anyone there was a knock on the door to the cart that made Sansa squeak. "Girl, are you done giving them that fruit, or did the Hound eat you?"

"We'll see you tonight." Sansa whispered as Arya set the sack of fruit down for them, she uncovered the Hound's face to see him glaring at her. She returned his look, and made a silent promise that while she would come for Sansa, the Hound was on his own.

When she left the cart, Arya was taken by surprise when she had a sack put over her head. It seemed bad luck was Arya's only constant companion, because the Brotherhood announced they would be arriving at their destination within a few hours. Arya's face was covered so that she would not know exactly where they had been taken.

After a time, Arya was taken off the horse and led forward. She heard the sound of water, and the ground beneath her feet felt rocky, the air itself smelt damp and earthy. _Be aware of your surroundings, use the environment_, her sword master had taught her that. They had to be in a cave, either behind a waterfall, or at least near one.

The bag was taken off Arya's head, in front of her, the Hound's had been removed at Well, Sansa was beside him with a man at her side in the process of taking hers off. Arya stepped forward, wanting to go to her sister, but Sansa's back was to her, and she stepped closer to the Hound.

Gendry called her over just as the Hound spoke up, she didn't catch the beginning of the exchange, but when Arya was listening again the Hound was saying "You think carrying a crooked spear makes you a soldier?"

"No," A new voice replied,"Fighting in a war makes you a soldier."

"Beric Dondarrion," The Hound identified the newcomer, Arya's gaze shifted between him and the approaching figure identified as 'Beric'. "You've seen better days…"


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note: **When I initially posted this chapter on tumblr it took a long time to finish, not because it's a long chapter, but because I consider writing fight scenes to be one of my weakest points as an author, despite evidence to the contrary. Do not alarm yourself over the quality however, after I posted it I got an anonymous message declaring it was one of the best fight scenes they'd read in a fanfic.

**Warning: **Violent content, Sansa is totally over romanticizing Sandor and completely misjudging him. I did that on purpose.

**Disclaimer:** The only things in this story that are mine are the plot divergences and changes, all character, locations and recognizable plots belong to GRRM

A Sword with Wings

"Beric Dondarrion. You've seen better days…"

Sansa kept her eyes on her feet, sticking as close to Sandor as possible. She didn't care what the Brotherhood thought of her; his wife, his whore…they were strangers, and the last time she had been among a crowd of strangers things had gotten ugly fast. She needed the comfort of being near the only man she trusted to not hurt her.

"And I won't see them again," Beric replied, stepping closer.

Sansa whimpered as he approached, the Hound moved between them. He looked around the cave at the gathering of men and identified them all, "Stark deserters, Baratheon deserters. You lot ain't fighting in a war, you're running from it!" He growled disdainfully.

Beric was ready with a counter comment, "Last I heard, you were King Joffery's guard dog." He said, "Yet here you are, a thousand miles from home…Which of us is running?"

The reply didn't seem to phase Sandor at all. "Untie these ropes and we'll find out." He threatened, Beric didn't reply to the challenge so he continued, "What are you doing leading a bunch of peasants?"

"Lord Stark ordered me to execute your brother." Beric answered, "In King Robert's name."

"Ned Stark is dead. King Robert is dead… And my brother is alive." The Hound spat, glaring forward at Beric while continuing to shield Sansa from his gaze. Sansa tried not to whimper at the mention of her father. "Your fighting for ghosts."

Beric looked him right in the eye as he responded, "That's what we are, ghosts." He said, "Waiting for you in the dark. You can't see us, but we see you…" It was a haunting line that once again, Sandor did not seem phased by as he continued to look Beric in the eye as well. "No matter who's cloak you wear. Lannister, Stark, Baratheon…You prey on the weak! The Brotherhood without Banners will hunt you down."

Now this, the Hound finally had a facial response for. Not surprise, or dread, but yet another disinterested snort, "Oh? Found god, is that it?"

Beric nodded, "I've been reborn in the Light of the One True God." He said proudly with a ghost of a smile on his lips, then he addressed the rest of the cave. "As have we all. As would any man who's seen the things we've seen."

Sansa could almost feel the Hound roll his eyes, "I've seen plenty." He replied, "What one man calls 'proof' of his god, another calls witchcraft. All over the place everyone thinks they've found the truth, everyone thinks they know better than anyone who believes differently. What makes your Lord of Light any more true than that damned ocean god they pray to on the Iron islands?"

That was an question Arya and Sansa both had troubling finding an answer to. Their own parents prayed to different gods, the Old and the New, yet had never once had their children heard them argue over who's god were the right ones.

"We are not here to argue religion Clegane." Beric said.

"Then what are we here for?" The Hound barked, "If you mean to murder mean, bloody well get on with it!" Sansa whimpered again, someone whispered a claim to his whore once they were done. How could he say that? Didn't he care about his life?

"You'll die soon enough dog." This reply did not come from Beric, "But it won't be murder…only justice."

"W-what?" Sansa squeaked

"The kind of fate he deserves." Someone else answered her, " Lions, You call yourselves. At the Mummer's Ford girls of seven years were raped. And babes, still on their mother's breast were cut in two while their mothers watched!"

There were a few angry murmurs, Sansa shifted and shot the Hound a look of horror. He glared at the speaker, "I wasn't _at_ the Mummer's Ford!" He growled, "Dump your dead children at some other door!"

"House Clegane was built upon dead children!" Sansa couldn't keep back a gasp. "I saw prince Aegon and princess Rhaenys before the Iron throne."

Sansa opened her mouth, ready with an exclamation of horror, maybe a sharp word in Sandor's defense or perhaps to curse him for what she was hearing. The Hound glanced her way only a brief second before he snarled back, "Do you take me for my brother?" He turned around bellowing for the whole cave to hear, "Is being born Clegane a crime?"

"_Murder_ is a crime!" A man in the crowd accused.

Sandor growled again, fuming but keeping a level argument, "_I never touched the Targaryen babes_!" He barked, though Sansa felt like he wasn't so much explaining this to the Brotherhood as he was trying to tell her the truth amongst all these accusations, "I never saw them! Never smelled them! Never heard them! You want to cut my throat, _get on with it_!"

Silence filled the cave for a second as no one seemed to want to infuriate the barking Hound any further, afraid of being bitten. Sandor spoke up again before anyone else found their voices. His tone was filled with a familiar venom, one Sansa was familiar with him using when he spoke of knights.

"But don't call me murderer…" He snarled, "And pretend that you're not."

The fear that Sansa had been feeling up to that point suddenly turned hot and angry as she realized why Sandor told them to kill him and get it over with. This brotherhood was no better than the knights of King's Landing. They spoke against the rape of young girls, yet she felt eyes on her, they accused Sandor of crimes committed by his family. Blamed him for atrocities carried out in places he was no where near. Called him a killer, when they killed in the name of their lords, both human and this Lord of Light.

In that moment, Sansa hated the Brotherhood without banners as much as Sandor did.

"You murdered Myca!" Sansa turned her head at her sister's sudden cry as Arya stepped closer to her and Sandor. "The butcher's boy, my friend!"

Sansa's stomach flipped as her sister described in detail how the Hound had killed the boy on the road to King's Landing. Oh no, Arya wasn't still going on about that was she? Sansa wanted to speak up in his defense, to remind Arya that it was Joffery that had ordered Myca's death, that Sandor had only been obeying his commands.

Not that long ago Sansa had been defending Joffery, reminding Arya that the Hound was the one that had killed Myca. Strange how things had changed. Too bad if she spoke up, Sansa would have to tell them how she knew, and in turn, who she was, and she couldn't do that.

Her sister's grudge could get Sandor killed! Maybe her too. She hoped Sandor didn't remember, or had the sense to claim not to have any idea what Arya was talking about, they could still get away if the Brotherhood had nothing to charge him with.

She felt the color drain from her face when Sandor turned to face them and he answered, "Aye, he was a bleeder." He said, confirming the death of Myca by his hands.

Beric looked between them, "You don't deny killing this boy?" Sansa wanted to cry, why hadn't he denied it? She'd back him up in a heartbeat if it meant getting them out of there alive.

_A Hound will die for you, but never lie to you._

"I was Joffery's sworn shield, the boy attacked the prince." Sandor explained. That was why he had killed Myca, Sansa realized, the only reason he'd done it, Sandor would never have touched him otherwise.

She hoped with that explanation that would be the end of it, but Arya snapped, "That's a lie!" She glared at the Hound and at Sansa, angry that it was taking this long to get justice for her friend's death, "I hit Joffery, Myca just ran away!"

"Then I should have killed you." Sandor said, surprisingly calm as he turned away again, "It's not my place to question princes."

Silence filled the cave so that the only sound was the crackling of the fires. Sansa played back the entire encounter in her head, realizing slowly what Sandor had done and the position he had put the Brotherhood in.

He was brought in accused of terrible crimes, but the only ones he denied were the ones he was not involved with. When confronted with something he had actually done, Sandor did not deny it. He was questioned about it, he gave only an honest answer, he did it because Joffery had been attacked, it was his job to take care of the attacker.

Not only that, Sansa realized, but Sandor had said nothing about that fact, that he had only killed Myca because it was his job, being a justification for his actions. He did not beg for his life to be spared, only stared Beric Dondarrion down and dared him to sentence him to death.

_If you're going to murder me, get on with it_. Sansa's heart beat a little faster, was he accepting responsibility for his crime?

If that was the case, then that made him a more honest man than this entire Brotherhood. Sansa understood their hesitation, what if they killed this man and it turned out Arya was lying, what happened to them in the eyes of their god?

Sansa smiled more as she realized that was another advantage Sandor had over the Brotherhood. He may have killed Myca as part of his work for Joffery, but at least he wasn't hiding behind him to justify it like they hid behind their god.

Finally Beric spoke up again, talking to the Hound once more, "You stand accused of murder," he said and looked around the cave again, "But no one here knows the truth of the charge, so it's not for us to judge the Lord of Light may do that now…"

Sansa almost breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that perhaps they would let him go now, but instead Beric continued. "I sentence you to trial by combat."

Sandor's face remained passive as he looked around him, making brief eye contact with Sansa as he did. "So, who will it be?" He said, trial by combat would no trouble for him, she didn't doubt that he could kill any of the men gathered here. They didn't seem to doubt it either, for no one immediately volunteered to pass judgement, even as he singled out man after man, the priest, an archer he'd spoken to earlier, even Arya.

That was when Beric stepped forward, claiming his place as the challenger. Sansa was pulled away from Sandor, and both of them cut free from their ropes. Arya came to stand beside her sister, though a good view of the fight was probably also on her mind, and a man held her arm. Sansa was uncomfortable both with the man's grip and the sudden feeling like she was a prize to be given to the victor.

Sandor looked back at her, sharing some of the same feeling. Undoubtedly this was a trial not only for his own life, but for the fate of 'Jolee'. Why had she claimed to be his wife, any man could tell that wasn't true. Calling her his whore had kept her alive as a prisoner, but if Sansa had said she was his sister (like he had imagined she would when she gave them the name Jolee) perhaps they would have believed her,

After all, many men were fleeing the city with their families to avoid the war, and the Clegane's were just private enough that while some of these men may have heard about the young Clegane sister, his father would have made sure to cover up her death. Like he had covered up so many things.

A sword was given to Sandor while Beric and Thoros prayed to their fire god. It was dark, but when Sandor tested the blade's balance, he recognized the feel of his own sword in his hand. Good, if he was going to fight for his life he'd rather not do it with an unfamiliar weapon. A shield was also handed to him, the Hound didn't give much thought to using it.

He kept glancing back to Sansa while Thoros prayed over Beric and they prepared for the trial, Arya had moved closer, whether that was to be near her sister or just to get a good view of the fight, Sandor wasn't sure. Men were whispering and looking between Sandor and Sansa, their gazes mostly stayed on him. Good, let them whisper, let them think what they wanted. He didn't care if they thought of him as some dirty old dog, as long as the attention was kept on him, not on the pretty Little Bird.

She'd be in real trouble if anyone realized who his whore really was.

At last the priest seemed to be done, Sandor stepped forward ready for the fight, but just before Beric Donnarion stood he slid his blade across his palm and the unbelievable happened. The sword caught fire.

He jumped back a step in surprise. Fuck, he'd just left fires behind, now there was more, what kind of fucking shit was this? Sandor had already let his fear of fire best him once, not this time. This time he let it fuel him. Still, Sandor wanted this fight over sooner rather than later so he thrust his sword forward with all of his strength.

Beric blocked it.

Bastard was stronger than he looked. And faster. Even with his fear of the fire staying under control, Sandor found himself in a match with an opponent he'd underestimated. He switched his tactic from offense to defense so fluidly he doubted Beric noticed what he was doing, buying time to better study his movements so he could target a weakness. Using both his shield and his sword to block Beric's attacks while he lead a dance around the cavern floor.

Beric, though, had the advantage of being more familiar with the terrain. The crash of steel against steel and the thumps of wood echoed around the Hound, punctuated with the heavy grunts of the two men, and light from the fire made shadows look like they were going to leap out at him. He lost his footing where the ground shifted under him, and almost fell completely back when Beric thrust his sword forward.

Another similar mishap followed shortly after, one which had Sandor standing in the nearby fire. His clothes did not catch flame, but he could feel it's heat. He cried out as he stepped away, kicking more supplies, appearing to be trembling with rage, but his fear was starting to cripple his thinking.

He could almost feel Gregor's weight pressing him into the fire…

Sandor fought with more ferocity, he had seen enough of Beric's fighting. His sword clashed against the burning one, and he used his shield both to repel Beric's assaults and to attack. Sandor outweighed him, throwing his shield into Beric, knocking the other man over, but he was just fast enough to block yet another strike with the sword.

Beric rolled out of the way and when the Hound thrust his blade down he hit only the ground. The tables turned suddenly, as Beric threw strike after strike with his flaming sword. Fuck, if the damn thing weren't on fire Sandor wouldn't be so quick to retreat from it. The rock beneath him shifted again, he fell backward, and this time it was Sandor on the ground blocking a strike from above with his shield.

The burning blade struck the wood, and this time held there long enough to catch it on fire too. Sandor heard screaming echoing in his ears, his own screams, trapped in his skull. He couldn't remember getting back to his feet, but the Hound howled, throwing the flaming shield in front of him, causing his opponent to back away or catch flame himself. Around him a chant came up.

He knocked Beric to the ground again, he should have ended it then, but the fire was eating away his shield, the heat made his arm tremble. Foolishly he dropped his sword and tried to bat the flames out while his enemy was on the ground. Beric kicked the blade away and suddenly Sandor had no weapon and was being beaten back again.

His only defense was the flaming shield, and any moment those flames could consume him…

"Kill him!"

"Get your sword!"

The Stark girls shouted, demanding something different of each of the fighters. Sandor's eyes darted around, searching for his fallen sword. He spotted it, in the fire. Fuck, why'd it have to be in the fire? He dropped to the ground, barely avoiding decapitation and rolled to the fire. The hilt of the sword stuck out, but the blade was deep in the flames and Beric wasn't far behind him.

Sandor grabbed his sword while holding the shield in front of him to block the attack. His hand gripped it and he kicked forward, knocking Beric in the knees forcing him back a step, giving Sandor room to get back to his feet. The steel of his sword had turned red in the fire, super heated.

Fire now fought fire.

In the crowd, Sansa gasped at the sight of him. His helmet was missing, but the flaming shield, the red-hot sword…The was right out of her dream!

While Sansa could be swept away by the striking image, all Sandor wanted to do was scream. Fire on his shield, a super heated sword, the fire at his back and his enemy's sword also aflame. Fire was all around him, it finally broke the Hound. He howled and threw his arm blindly down on Beric.

This was it, his final stroke. Either he killed the man with it, or the next time Beric swung his sword it would be the end of Sandor.

The flaming sword rose to block the attack. Credit it to Sandor's superior strength, the weakness of the steal, or perhaps he was truly innocent in the eyes of their damn fire god, but Sandor's sword cut straight through Beric's. Into his shoulder the blade dug, it's red-hot steel searing through cloth and flesh, a scream echoed in Sandor ears, he had no idea who's. Could have been his own for all he knew.

All he cared was that the flames from his shield have finally jumped to his arm. He tried to rip his sword free, the result being that the hot metal fell free of the sword's hilt and clattered against the ground, still glowing red, but twisted now.

Sandor dropped the empty hilt and fell, first to his knees then to his back, batting at the flames again, tearing to free the cursed shield from his arm and put out the fire on his sleeve. It seemed an agonizing eternity, but at last the fires were out. Sandor's face was wet, a mix of sweat and tears, he hoped it was too dark for anyone to see.

The pounding of his heart settled enough for him to hear the stunned silence that had fallen, the only sounds were the continued crackling of the fires, his own ragged breath and Thoros chanting some religious nonsense.

He had won.

In the crowd of shocked on lookers, there was perhaps none more shocked than Arya Stark. No, not this couldn't be. The Hound was supposed to die! He murdered Myca, any god should have found him guilty!

Her shock turned to a black anger as the Hound laid on his back breathing heavily, and beside her Sansa let out an audible sigh of relief. Arya turned to her sister, but Sansa did not look back, her eyes were on the Hound, and his on her. Arya's gaze traveled down Sansa's body to her skirt and the knife she knew was concealed there.

_He's guilty_, Arya though, _He's guilty and I know it even if the gods do not_.

She moved almost as if she weren't in control of herself. She heard a voice protest, Gendry probably, but she wasn't listening. Arya dove to her sister's skirts and stole the knife before Sansa had even taken her eyes of the Hound.

With the knife in her hand she ran to him, her grip was so tight that her knuckles turned white. Gendry and Sansa both ran after her, trying to stop her, but she was already at the Hound's side. He'd discarded his shield and his sword lay a twisted ruin out of reach, but he was quick to guard his throat from her blade.

Which left is chest exposed, Arya flung it down, she wasn't counting but the knife had to have hit him several times before someone caught her wrist. She was crying, tears blurred her vision. The Hound cried out more in surprise and frustration than pain, it enraged her more.

Even as Arya lifted the knife high and drove it downward on to his chest with all her strength, she could feel that it wasn't doing much good, his armor was too tough for the small knife. The blade had good steel, though, she felt it sink in past cloth in the places that armor didn't cover. The Hound's grunt's of pain confirmed that she was at least hurting him.

"Arya don't!" Her sister begged in her ear, trying to yank her back.

"_Let me go Sansa_!" Arya screamed without thinking and struggled to free herself from her sister's grip, "_Let me go! I'm going to kill him Sansa_!"

It wasn't until Gendry's head snapped up that Arya realized what she had done. "Sansa?" He repeated.

Around them men of the Brotherhood without Banners cast glances at each other and then the two sisters, recognizing them as siblings and cursing themselves for not seeing the Hound's Bitch had been the other Stark girl the whole time.

Sansa released her grip on Arya, and the knife fell from the younger girl's hand. Arya felt like a fool, she was already doomed to whatever fate the Brotherhood had in mind for one Stark child, but Sansa could have walked away free. Now Arya had condemned them both.

Men started to walk forward. The Hound sat up, grunting as he did and clutching his chest, in the fire light Arya could see glistening stains on his armor. The blade wasn't strong enough to break through it entirely, but in a few places it had wedged between gaps and found it's mark.

He glared and gasped out at the Brother's "Touch her, and I'll kill you!"

The shocked silence returned as Thoros stopped his prayer, no one seemed to know what to do. "You've won your freedom." all eyes turned to the source of the words, Beric stood, healthy as he had been before Sandor nearly took his arm off.

Sansa gasped, that was impossible, he should have been dead! She looked at Sandor again he seemed as surprised as her. Beric stood and walked toward them, Sandor said nothing, "Our god has judged you innocent, perhaps R'hllor has some plan for you…."


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** Thus begins more divergence from canon, and an increase in chapter length. No promises that the rest the chapters of this story are going to be this long, but I do have a history.

**Warning:** Long chapter, SanSan scenes, language, plot divergence, mentions of violence and whatnot.

**Disclaimer:** the song Sansa sings to Sandor in this chapter is Linger by Epica, I use it for the purpose of this fanfiction only because I know nothing of song writing and trying to make up a song would kill the scene. Once again all recognizable characters and plots are GRRM's.

A Sword with Wings

Following Sandor's victory over Beric, he had been ushered away to have his stab wounds looked at. Sansa and Arya were cornered by several of the Brothers, but gently assured that no harm would come to them. Despite this, however, Sansa couldn't remain calm.

Every time she saw a man approaching her she had flashbacks to King's Landing; to her beatings, Joffery's threats, and the attempted rape. It hadn't taken much convincing to get Thoros to agree to let her stay with Sandor until he was allowed to leave. Arya could learn a thing or two about how acting like a lady got a woman what she wanted.

A few smiles, some gentle curtsies, and polite conversations and a few hours later Sansa was left alone with the Hound.

Adrenalin from the fight had kept him energetic for a few minutes, but once it had calmed, Sandor was having trouble moving. Members of the Brotherhood had to help him remove his armor, and looking at him now, Sansa could understand why. He was covered in scars and black bruises.

Many of the pale marks across his chest and arms were clearly old, others fresher, some may have come from Blackwater, the bruises were from the fight with Beric, but the main concern was the stab wounds inflicted by Arya just after.

He'd reluctantly taken a small dose of milk of the poppy, expressing more interest in a flask of wine the Brotherhood could not provide, while the wounds were stitched up. Thoros had explained to Sansa that his armor had protected him enough that the stabs were not deep enough to warrant much concern for his health, but Sandor refused to use the foreign ointment that was recommended to be spread on the wounds. Before he left, the priest had handed her the container of medicine and asked her to see if she could talk him into using it.

"It's perfectly safe." Thoros said, although he didn't give any details about what was in the balm, or where it had come from, "We're not trying to poison him, the Lord of Light has judged him innocent. Look here, I've used it myself several times. Those wounds will be just more scars in a few days, rather than a week."

"I'll see what I can do," Sansa replied, "But if he still refuses, I won't press." She told him.

"Night will be falling soon, we'll have his horse packed and ready for him to depart by morning." Thoros nodded, and looked over to Sandor, "Before you go Hound, you must tell me what you were doing so far from home with the little lady Stark." He said.

"Piss off." Came Sandor's gruff reply.

"I pray the Lord of Light sees fit to give you a quick recovery Clegane," Thoros said, "The sooner you're out of here the better. You should do the same."

"I don't pray to my gods, what makes you think I'll pray to yours?" The Hound called to him as he left.

A few other members of the Brotherhood remained in the small section of the cave that was being used as a medical ward, but they were quick to leave, wishing the Hound a speedy recovery with as much sincerity as Thoros had and giving Sansa a few blessings, "For the night is dark and full of terrors." People kept saying that over and over, Sansa thought it was odd that they seemed to find comfort in it.

She wanted to talk to Sandor about her dream, and how the image of him from it had come to life. She'd leave out any mention of the dream-kiss, someone had told her once that kissing in dreams meant no more than a longing to know someone better, which made sense in a way: she had no idea how long she and Sandor would be together, she probably wanted to get to know him. Still, best leave that part out.

He'd probably mock her, kiss or not it was a silly dream no doubt, but she wanted to at least mention it. The fact that she had seen his victory (well, maybe not exactly) had to be important. Though as Sansa approached it was obvious the Hound was in no condition to be talking about silly dreams.

Sansa stepped over to Sandor once they were finally alone, she held the medicine and didn't say anything when he looked at her. Sandor didn't seem to recognize her for a moment, a side effect of the milk of the poppy, and it took him even longer to realize what she was holding. "You too?" He grumbled dizzily and then proceeded to chew on his tongue as if noticing he had one for the first time.

"It couldn't hurt." She said with a small shrug, expecting him to decline she started to put it down.

Instead Sandor made a face and grabbed the container from her hands. "I'd rather have a song…" He muttered, he couldn't seem to get the lid off on his own, so Sansa took it back and spread the lotion over his stitched up wounds.

"I knew you would win." Sansa said quietly. Sandor didn't reply. She couldn't help staring at the numerous scars he had across his body, wondering how he could have gotten so many, where he had, and what has cause such odd shaped marks. Sandor still hadn't said a word when she had finished spreading the ointment and put the lid back on it. "The Brotherhood plans for me to stay here."

"Like fuck you are." Sandor finally answered her, "Soon as I can stand again I'm packing up Stranger and leaving. You're coming with me whether the Brotherhood like it or not."

"What about Arya?" Sansa asked, Sandor turned to face her with a scowl, "She's my sister, I can't just leave her here." She knew that Sandor was never close to his brother so perhaps he didn't understand how much it meant to her to have Arya back, even if she did tend to be quite obnoxious at times.

Sandor got a thoughtful look on his face before he closed his eyes with a groan. Sansa thought he passed out, but after a moment he spoke up again. "I can fight off any man who'd try to stop me from getting you out of here, but if I'm taking both of you we'll have to be more tricky than that…"

"What do you mean?" Sansa asked.

"…" Sandor looked a little paler than he had a moment ago, and he noticed his tongue again before continuing "I'm tired…Find the little bitch and talk to her." Sansa tried to protest to calling Arya that, but Sandor didn't answer seemingly having fallen asleep.

Sansa didn't want to go back out into the cave with all the men she did not know or trust, but with Sandor unresponsive she finally stood up and gathered her courage to talk to a few people. Smiling gently and giving small curtsies she asked if anyone knew where her sister was and finally she was directed to another part of the cave where the smith was set up.

A boy was there, the one who had helped her stop Arya from attacking Sandor after the trial. She assumed he was the the friend 'Gendry' Arya had mentioned when she had met them in the cart. He looked up at her as she approached, "Looking for Arya?" He asked with a soft smile.

Sansa had been feeling tense, wanting to run back to Sandor, but that tenseness eased a little with the easiness of Gendry's smile. "Yes." She replied.

"You just missed her." He said, pointing back out the way she had come, "She went to find Lord Beric, not too long ago, He's at the front you might be able to catch her before she moves again."

That sounded like Arya, couldn't keep still when she was nervous. She nodded her thanks, and turned to leave, but Gendry called her back to show Sansa what he was working on. He carefully handed her a sword wrapped up in a cloth, warning her to be careful handling it.

"The Brotherhood wanted to keep it so they could reforge it for their use, but I talked Thoros into letting the Hound have it back." Gendry said, "Even a man like him is going to need a weapon out there."

It took Sansa a moment to realize what he meant. This wasn't just any sword, it was Sandor's, the one that had snapped out of the hilt and twisted by the heat of the fire. Gendry had fixed it, but that was not all, Sansa discovered when she lifted the cloth to see the blade.

"I heard he calls you Little Bird." Gendry explained, pointing to the design he had etched onto the blade. There was a carefully engraved feathered wing resting atop 3 cross-hatched knots going down from the hilt. Gendry flipped it over to show the same design half finished on the other side of the blade, "There's some small flaws in the design, but I doubt anyone but a master smith would notice. When I finish with the blade, I'll add a Hound's head, here on the hilt."

Sansa was amazed at the craftsman's ship, she didn't see these flaws Gendry had spoken of. "It's beautiful." She said and folded the cloth back over the blade. "I'm sure Sandor will appreciate you returning his sword." She said handing it back.

Then she remembered that Arya had said she wanted to get Gendry to help them escape, and leaned forward a bit. If Arya trusted him, Sansa saw no reason why she shouldn't, "I'm going to escape with Sandor when he's recovered. I'm taking Arya too, that's why I need to find her." She whispered, "You should come with us. We could use your help."

Gendry's face fell a little, and Sansa knew that he wasn't going to come. The young smith looked around before answering, "I've already talked to Arya about this," He said, "I'm going to stay on with the Brotherhood, they could use my help too."

Sansa felt a little sad, Arya would have undoubtedly been upset to hear that, but Sansa decided not to press about it. "I wish you luck then."

Gendry seemed to be relieved by her understanding. "I can still help you escape though." He replied quietly, "What's you plan?" He asked.

Sansa shook her head, "Still working on that. Sandor will be allowed to leave by morning, that's all I know." She explained.

"Then your best chance would be to leave before sunrise." He told her. "Go find Arya. The Brotherhood doesn't want this place discovered, so you have to plan this carefully."

"Yes." Sansa agreed, "Thank you." She said and turned to leave again.

"Good luck." Gendry called after her. Before she left the Smith, however, Sansa caught a glimpse of her knife on a rock serving as a table. She glanced back to make sure Gendry was busy before she snatched it and hid it back under her skirt. T_his knife is your life, don't throw it away_.

He had said that Arya had gone to talk to Beric, up at the front of the cave. Sansa weaved through the crowds of men bustling around, trying to get there. With her knife back in reach, Sansa felt a little more at ease than she had before. Her smiles came a little easier with the knowledge that if a man tried to touch her, or threaten her in anyway, that she had a way to defend herself.

It seemed like they were deliberately trying to get in her way, but Sansa scolded herself, it was probably just her imagination. She listened to them speaking as she walked, there was a lot of talk about the Stark family that didn't stop as she passed. She heard that Arya had someone watching her almost constantly to make sure she didn't try to finish what she'd started with the Hound. For that she was grateful.

She heard snippets of conversation, a plan to take her and Arya to Riverrun, something about her mother and brother being also overheard terrible news that Theon Greyjoy had betrayed them and taken Winterfell, reports that were 'unconfirmed' about the destruction of her home, and rumors that her younger brothers may or may not still be alive. Dark thoughts filled Sansa's head, the plan to escape may need to include a plan of what to do after.

She didn't know the truth about what had happened to Winterfell, but Sansa wasn't sure she trusted the Brothehood's claim that her mother and Robb were in Riverrun.

She was almost back where she started, at the part of the cave where Sandor had been taken for treatment. That's when conversations she overheard turned from the Stark's to the Hound. Something was wrong, people were saying he must have been guilty after all. Surprised, Sansa broke into a run, diverting her course, leaving Arya for later, she needed to know what was happening with Sandor.

She reached the section of the cave. Thoros was back and stopped her from going to Sandor's side. "What's happening?" She begged.

"A reaction to the ointment." He answered, "The Hound's not going anywhere by morning. It may be a few days before we know if he's going anywhere at all." He tried to usher her away, saying something about how she should be with her sister, but Sansa pushed passed him and sat beside Sandor.

He had gone pale as a ghost, and he trembled in his sleep, breathing irregularly and sweating. The spots on his chest where Sansa had applied the balm herself not too long ago had turned red and the scar tissue forming over his wounds was blistering. He made a few noises, gurgles, and moans.

Sansa felt a hand on her shoulder, but didn't look up at Thoros when he spoke, "This is a rare reaction. I've only seen it a few times, and seen people survive it even fewer." He said.

Sansa's stomach flipped. "If…If he dies…" She choked, "Can you bring him back…like you did with Lord Beric?"

Thoros seemed confused by her concern. "You're awfully worried about a man who kidnapped you." He mused.

She didn't know where he had gotten this information, but Sansa finally looked up at him, angrily she snapped at the priest. "He didn't kidnap me! He _saved_ me!" She wiped her face and regained her composure, ladies didn't lose their tempers. "He's been saving me since they killed my father… can you bring him back or not?"

That was a bit of an exaggeration, the number of times the Hound had stood by and done nothing out numbered the times he had actually helped her, but Thoros had no need to know that much. There was a shift in the priest's expression as he considered the answer.

"I'm not the one that brings people back from the grave, child." He told her, "Only the Lord of Light can do that, I merely say the words."

"Then will you say them?" Sansa asked sternly.

Something about the way she was speaking now seemed to change the way Thoros viewed her, Sansa could almost not believe the way she sounded herself, so confident, almost commanding. She wasn't a child anymore, she was a woman, a Lady, and now she was speaking like one.

"The Hound's passed his trial by combat." Thoros said after a while, "Perhaps R'hllor is giving him another trial. If he dies, it is not my place to interfere with the Lord's work."

Sansa didn't like that response, but before she got a word in Thoros was giving his blessing, praying for her to be strong no matter the Lord of Light's judgement. And then he turned to leave, as he did, Sansa saw Arya standing not far off. They made eye contact only for a brief moment, before Arya ran off.

But Sansa had seen the hate in her sister's was praying for the Hound's death, probably harder than she'd ever prayed for anything in her life.

And Sansa knew that she would have to pray even harder for him to live.

She couldn't explain it, but she felt a nagging sickness inside her, like she was responsible for Sandor being like this. It wasn't just that he had brought her along, she had a feeling that the Brotherhood would have caught him with or with out. This feeling of guilt reached further than that. Back to the King's Road…

Night fell. A few men tried to lead her away, find a place for her to sleep for the night, but Sansa refused to leave Sandor's side. She stayed awake longer than she thought herself capable of, praying to every god she knew. The Old, the New, even the Lord of Light she spared a prayer for.

_I don't know if you listen to girl's who don't believe, but please_… She prayed, please, _you judged him not guilty before. Do not take him now_.

It was not quite morning when she fell asleep sitting up, but it must have been close when Gendry shook her shoulder. Sansa spent the early hours in a bit of a haze, her feelings of sickness left her with no appetite and Sansa wandered the cavern doing simple chores that the Brotherhood asked her to. Mostly concerning with Stranger, the horse seemed to like her enough that he allowed her to feed him, even if he flattened his ears and curled back his lips.

Hopefully they wouldn't think her capable of saddling him too.

Once that was finished Sansa was awake enough to continue as she had the previous day. Smile, be pleasant, ask questions, get answers. While Arya sulked in one part of the cave or another, Sansa familiarized herself with the layout, who was on guard and when, all under the guise of just being a foolish girl making pleasant conversation with her captors.

She returned to Gendry by noon, whispering what she had learned to him. They had a decent plan put together that they promised to tell Arya the next time either of them saw her, but the whole thing would fall apart if Sandor didn't recover. She still hadn't eaten, and nor had that bulge of guilt within her dissipated. It ate at her, feeling as though she had a lump in her belly that was growing bigger the longer the Hound lay unconscious.

Sansa fell asleep in a corner of the cave for a what felt like only minutes for how rested she felt. When she woke Sansa returned to where Sandor lay.

Thoros was already there with a few other men tending to the Hound, between them Sansa could see that some of the color had come back to Sandor's face, which she hoped was a good sign, it made her guilt ease a little at lease. Pretty soon the others were dismissed, but Thoros stayed, to Sansa's disappointment. She knelt beside him again to resume her prayers for Sandor's recovery, the priest touched her shoulder again. Why couldn't he just leave her be?

"You should eat M'lady,." He said.

"I'm not hungry." Sansa replied, though that was a lie quickly dismissed by an embarrassingly loud growl from her stomach.

"Making yourself sick isn't going to make him better any sooner." Thoros told her, Sansa didn't budge. Thoros knelt beside her holding a flask of wine. He wasn't drunk, but he took a sip from it before speaking, "I have a feeling this is about more than him getting you out of King's Landing." He said after swallowing, "Tell me girl, why so concerned?"

Tears dripped over Sansa's eyelids and she couldn't hold it in any longer. "I should have been the one on trial…for Mycah." She moaned.

Thoros seemed surprised to hear this, "What do you mean?"

She explained as best she could, with as many details about that day by the river as she could remember. How Arya and Mycah were only playing, as Arya had asked of him. How Joffery had harassed them first, and she had stood back saying nothing. Arya attacked the prince to protect her friend, and Nymeria attacked Joffery to protect Arya.

Sansa had done nothing.

And then she lied about what had happened in front of everyone. And for what? To protect a spoiled little boy who had only ever pretended to love her.

She knew Sandor had probably already killed Mycah by the time the orders to kill Lady had been given…"But if I'd spoken up earlier- any time before nightfall- even just to tell one person the truth, that butcher's boy might still be alive." She finished, wiping her eyes.

Thoros still seemed to be surprised by what he was hearing, he didn't know what to say and instead passed her his flask. Accustomed to the Queen having her drink, Sansa put the flask to her lips and took a sip, only to find that it wasn't wine- it had a much earthier taste to it. Must have been ale, she supposed and even though it wasn't the fine drink she'd been given at King's Landing, Sansa continued her sip to be polite.

She almost preferred it to the wine, it felt appropriate after that spill.

Finally Thoros spoke again. "The Lord of Light has heard your confession, Child." He assured her, "I don't know if it'll help your friend or not, but he's heard you."

Calling Sandor Clegane her friend didn't seem like the right word, but Sansa just nodded her head. Thoros spoke to her a little while longer, but he figured out quickly that she wasn't listening and stood to leave. He returned a few minutes later with some dry bread for her, but Sansa didn't touch it. She couldn't stay awake the way she had the night before however. Sansa dreamed again- not of Sandor and kisses that would never happen though.

_This night she dreamed of fire, of Winterfell falling into ruin. She wandered through the smoke and flames, ashes turned her dress black. Beyond the clouds of soot, she saw figures, Bran and Rickon with Summer and Shaggydog trotting along behind. She called out to them, but they were too far to hear her. She tried to run and catch them, but they vanished out of view._

_The scene shifted, still aflame, to another castle, another ruin, this one she did not know, and another familiar figure. "Robb!" She called through the fire. This time her voice carried over the crackle of the flames and her eldest brother turned toward her. _

_She could see him, and Grey Wind, as clearly as though she were awake and standing only a short distance away. "Sansa?" He called back, plainly confused and as clear as any speaker. His wolf stood at his side and wagged his tail._

_She wanted to call out to him again, but didn't know what to say. The ashes under her feet began to rise, as if hiding a massive beast. And it was. She stumbled back, somehow unsurprised, merely getting out of the way and a great bird rose from underneath her. Fire beat from it's wings and it floated just in front of her for a moment before it shot into the sky. _

_It's path left a trail of embers drifting downward and when Sansa looked back at Robb, he was no longer there. Instead Sandor stood before her closer than her brother. Close enough to cup her cheek. _"Sing me a song Little Bird."

Like her brother's, his voice seemed too real to be just a dream, but unlike it, this time it woke her. Sansa blinked away the image to find Sanor's hand really touching her cheek, and him repeating the command to sing. It was too dark to see his face, but for a few details illuminated by nearby torches, but his voice was drowsy, and his fingers trembled against her face.

Sansa wasn't sure if Sandor even realized he was awake, he hadn't asked her for a song since she said she no longer knew any. He sounded so tired and desperate, she wanted to sing for him, but none of the songs she once knew by heart were coming to her. The song of Jonquil and Florian felt as far away as Winterfell, and she was certain that neither of them wanted to hear the The Rains of Castamere ever again if they could help it.

But she wanted to sing.

Sandor's hand slipped from her face a little and finally Sansa's mouth opened, and a song came forth, she'd memorized it for the Scepta, but never had a particular fondness for it and so wasn't sure if she was even had the words right. She sang quietly, trying not to disturb anyone else, and Sandor's falling hand clutched her dress, pulling her downward so he could hear better.

_"It feels so warm when you are near _  
_You are all I want to feel _  
_Tell me now, is this for real? _  
_It's hard to breath _  
_We're all lost in travelled time, cannot find my peace of mind _  
_When the sun will rise again, we'll fly away _

_Take the stairs to the stars _  
_Wander long, travel far _

_Someday…_

_A summer breeze makes all of our winters freeze _  
_Autumn leaves _  
_There's no chance for spring's romance _  
_We linger on but leave the past behind us _  
_Old lovers live it all anew _  
_But chances are so few…"_

The song had always made Sansa sad when she was learning it, probably why she hadn't enjoyed singing it, but the lyrics seemed to soothe Sandor. His arm quit shaking as she sang and he stopped pulling on her dress as he listened. She still wasn't sure Sandor thought this was anything more than a dream as she continued the song, she got through it's entirety without interruption.

The torches outlined Sandor's face, but his expression was still impossible to see even as close as he had pulled her. Sandor hadn't released his grip on her dress, Sansa reached up to try and pry his fingers off so she could scoot away. When she did he pulled downward again, taken by surprise Sansa let out a small gasp, but then her lips were suddenly against his.

It was nothing like her dreams, his lips were hard and and unmoving. It took Sansa a moment to realize he wasn't even awake anymore, so this kiss must have been nothing more than an accident. Still, her face turned hot and she pulled away as quickly as she could.

She didn't scoot away, however.

Exhaustion from having barely slept the night before suddenly caught up to Sansa all at once. She laid down away from Sandor, her face still flushing over the accidental kiss, and was in a deep sleep again in moments. By morning no other dreams had come to her, and she was awoken by a loud, angry complaint.

"What _the fuck_ did you do to my sword!?"

She opened her eyes and sat up startled, Sandor was awake, standing and attempting to get his armor on while Gendry stood before him presenting his reforged blade. "I-I thought-" Gendry was at a loss for what to say, obviously surprised that the Hound wasn't as impressed with his craftsmanship as Sansa had been.

Sansa herself was a little taken back as well. Though she hadn't expected Sandor to praise the detail that had gone into the extra work, she had at least thought he could appreciate having _his_ sword back. Apparently not, Sandor seemed furious about it, like he'd rather just have a new one altogether than have the blade decorated with a custom design.

"You thought wrong. I don't want your fucking fancy sword, I don't want any of you fucking coddling me and I don't want any fucking milk of the poppy. I want my gold, my horse and to get the fuck out of here!" Sandor growled.

Sansa noticed Arya standing not far off, her sister was staring at him, then glanced her way with a glare as if to say, _see what he's like?_ Sansa stood up and quickly walked over to them and took the sword from Gendry. "You did a fine job," She said with a smile and handed it to Sandor, "Milk of the Poppy's probably just made is temper a little quicker-"

"-Milk of the Poppy's done shit to my temper, it's made me overly aware of the existence of my own tongue-" Sandor muttered.

Sansa ignored him and his language "-But _I'm sure_ once he _actually starts using it_ he'll realize _it's just as good_ as it was _before_."

It seemed like a long time ago he had handed her a knife and told her a rhyme like she was a child, now the tables had turned and now Sandor was the one being scolded. His lips curled up and his teeth were bared as if he were about to snarl, but he took his sword and said nothing more of the the wings carved into the blade.

He sheathed it and clicked his shoulder armor into place, "And my gold?" He growled unhappily.

"Beric told me to give you this." Gendry said, though any faith he might have had that the piece of paper he gave the Hound would please the man was completely shattered.

Sandor took the paper and looked it over, Sansa saw his temper rising even before he threw it on the ground angrily, "What absolute shit-"

"-Beric said you'd be repaid in full when the is over." Gendry tried to explain.

"_Absolute shit_!" Sandor snarled a second time, "And what if I'm dead by the time this war is over, huh? What use is my gold to a dead man!?"

"The Brotherhood need gold to fund their efforts." Gendry answered, clearly only repeating something that Beric, maybe Thoros had told him.

_Gods,_ Sansa realized, _that must be what I sound like to Sandor_.

"_I_ need my gold!" The Hound barked loudly enough to draw some attention his way, and he quieted his voice when he spoke again, "And I'm especially gonna need it if I'm dragging the two of them along."

She must have missed the part where Gendry had explained that he was helping young man repeated the answer with a mumbled apology that there was nothing he could do. "Your horse is being saddled and will be ready for you to leave in an hour." He said.

"No way in seven hells would Stranger let them get him ready, where is he I'll saddle him myself!" The Hound barked again, a passing group of Brothers quickened their pace making the only thing they could hear was that familiar 'for the night is dark and full of terrors'. Sandor rolled his eyes and touched his sword "And the next man I hear say that I am going to fucking gut!"

Sansa cast a worried glance at Gendry as Sandor shoved his way passed without waiting for an answer about where his horse was. They were running out of time, Sandor would be gone in an hour. Arya stepped closer as Gendry quietly revealed the latest version of the plan. "They're going to blindfold him again, but his horse will know the way back. You have to sneak out tonight and follow the water, he'll find you."

"I'm not going." Arya protested, "Not with _him_. And not without you."

"I'm not leaving." Gendry told her.

"We could steal a horse, maybe two, ride out and find Hot Pie!" Arya said, she sounded ready to cry.

Sansa couldn't help noticing that her sister would rather stay here with the Brotherhood if it meant being with Gendry, but wouldn't leave with the Hound even if it meant being with Sansa. How could her own sister prefer the company of these men for the sake of one, if she couldn't put up with one man for Sansa's sake. It made the elder sister feel a tinge of anger plant itself inside her. Probably jealousy too.

Arya would rather stay here with Gendry than leave with her.

Then again, Sansa would gladly leave with Sandor alone than stay here with Arya, and all of these men who wanted to sell them back to their family. The sisters were never particularly close and got on each other's nerves frequently, but how had it come to this?

Gendry shook his head and held onto Arya's shoulders, "You have a family, you belong with them. I've got no one."

"I could be your famil-" The moment was interrupted by Stranger's loud whinny, and a distant clash of steel.

Worried that Sandor might have started a fight to get his gold, Sansa ran off to see what was happening. She was relieved to find that it wasn't even Stranger that had made the noise and the sword fighting she had heard was just a fight between two men over some stupid thing she didn't bother to find out about.

However, it did cause quite a bit of distraction, and while many were looking on the fight, Sansa noticed few purses left unguarded on a makeshift table. Gold and silver coins spilled out of some and there were stacks left in piles at each chair, a betting pool for some game that had been abandoned to watch the fight. Sansa grabbed one of the purses without thinking, a handful of coin from the table and walked off without a word.

She ducked behind some crates, put the coins in the purse she had stolen, and carefully lifted her skirt to tie it next to her knife. As Sansa lowered her skirt again, it occurred to her that she had just stolen a man's purse, and coins that were not hers. A sick feeling welled in her, like the guilt that had eaten at her yesterday.

_These men stole Sandor's gold_, she told herself, _and we will need gold. I'm just taking back what they took from us_.

She didn't know exactly how much gold Sandor had been robbed of, but Sansa felt this made them even. There was a grim satisfaction to this thought that made her almost as sick as the thought that she had stolen from someone.

_Ladies don't take things that don't belong to them._..

_…We need gold to get to mother and Robb, and when we get home I won't have to take things that don't belong to me anymore._

The two thoughts were both her own voice in her head, but something seemed different about the second. A rasp accompanied it, dark, bitter, like Sandor's voice. She rethought the sentence, trying to make it sound more like her own. _We need gold to get to mother and Robb, and when we get home I won't have to take things that don't belong to me anymore…_

_I'm not going mad am I…?_

Sansa kept up her routine from the previous few days. Smile, be pleasant, ask questions, get answers. Be courteous, don't make a scene, don't let them know you plan to leave. Gendry caught her at some point, telling her that Arya was still refusing to go. "She has to, though." He said, "Even if I have to carry her out while she's asleep and sneak back in later."

She only looked at him, almost as if telling him through thought alone that he would do exactly that. He ran off again, like he'd been threatened even though Sansa had said nothing.

She continued though the daily tasks she'd assigned herself, and found Sandor hadn't quite left yet. When Sansa saw his he was atop Stranger with a few men on their own horses to guide him out once he had a bag over his head. Thoros stood close to Sandor, speaking to him, Sansa couldn't hear what he said, but she could hear the Hound's angry bark."Piss on that and your fucking fire god!"

The priest visibly rolled his eyes and made a hand signal to have the bag put over Sandor and they were trotting off before Sansa could get close enough to even give a theatrical good-bye. She wondered what Thoros had said to him that had made Sandor react like that? Probably something about his gold, probably a number of things.

She ran into Beric and Thoros a few times after that. Sansa could see in their eyes that they knew she was planning something, but she smiled and nodded at them. She was a terrible liar, but she wasn't lying now.

Just not saying anything.

Which was a kind of lie on it own she supposed. Sansa found a map, she only got a brief look at it before the man standing over it left taking it with him, but there had been a few places marked. One was labled with a sigil she had seen around the cave, Sansa thought it must have been marking where this cave was located, and based on what she had seen made a rough estimate of where they were. Closer to the Red Fork than the Blackwater, that was a relief.

Sansa kept an eye out for Gendry and Arya, hoping to change Arya's mind about the situation. they were less likely to be caught if it was just Arya and Sansa sneaking out, rather than Gendry trying to carry her. Someone arrived with news of an army, which faction Sansa did not hear, but many of the men left to raid them. Night started to fall again without them returning, and still when the sky was black.

Now or never.

Sansa found Gendry, as promised he was carrying Arya asleep on his back. Sansa led the way out of the cave, stopping to talk to guards and keep them distracted while Gendry slipped passed. They reached the cavern entrance with no incidents, though Sansa worried the waterfall might wake Arya. Her little sister slept right though it though and Gendry disappeared into the darkness with her.

Sansa didn't get more than a couple steps before someone stopped her though. "What are you doing out here?" A voice said.

Sansa recognized it as one of the guards she had spoken to a few times over the last couple of days, "I just wanted some air." She said, her voice wavered a bit and she was certain that she'd get caught in a lie.

The guard didn't seem to notice though, "It does get a bit musky in there doesn't it, would you like some company?" he couldn't have been a year or two younger or older than Rob.

"Just some air." Sansa repeated, "I'll go back inside in a few minutes."

"Not necessary, if you want to take a walk I'll happily escort you m'lady." the man said, he turned around and walked a few steps out, Sansa scooped a rock off the ground. "A woman shouldn't be out alone. You know what they say, for the night is dark and- oooof!"

Sansa feared she wasn't strong enough to knock him out, but when she struck his head with the rock the man tumbled over, she quickly checked to be sure he was still breathing before she whispered "-And full of terrors, yes I know."

She dropped the rock and lifted her skirts to run along the small river before she found Gendry and they both waded into the water. She though he would give Arya to her and go back, but he continued to carry walked in silence, but occasionally Arya groaned in her sleep.

Only the light of the moon illuminated their way, and meager glow of stars reflecting off the water's surface. A few times Sansa thought she saw camp fires, but her eyes seemed to be tricking her. Her heart started to pound the longer they walked through the darkness, without meeting Sandor. and the splashing of their feet seemed to get louder.

This plan was starting to feel not quite as well thought out as she imagined, and fear started to grip at her heart. She heard a noise like the grunt of an animal and she couldn't help squeaking in surprise. "Little Bird, that you?"

The scream of terror that caught in her throat turned into a sigh of relief when Sandor stepped out of the shadow cast by a rock formation, Stranger was pulled along behind him, though the horse seemed less than pleased about their arrival. "Yes." Sansa called softly.

No words were spoken, Sandor found her in the dark and lifted her on to Stranger's back, followed by him taking Arya from Gendry and placing her carefully in front of Sansa. "And you are staying, correct?" Sandor asked Gendry as he mounted himself, Stranger made a noise of protest, obviously not used to this much weight, Sansa worried about it, but Sandor didn't say anything.

"Yes," Gendry replied, "I do think the Brotherhood truly meant to take her back to her family, but I'm worried about what could happen to her in the meantime."

"Don't trust the men you trust?" Sandor asked, Stranger clopped his hooves and nipped at the reings, wanted to move but waiting for a command. Gendry didn't answer, or at least Sansa couldn't hear an answer before Sandor continued. "Don't die. If possible I think it might be worth it to meet you again someday."

Sandor tugged on Stranger's reigns and the war horse began to trod away, Sansa looked back to say good bye, but dared not call out loudly. Sandor took hold of her shoulder and forced her to sit straight on the horse's back.

"No time, we need to get as much distance between us and this place before sunrise and someone notices you're missing." He said, "For the night is dark and full of shitheads."


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** This is the first chapter I'm posting simultaneously with my updates on tumblr, so for those of you who've been reading this is approximately how often I update, I sometimes go longer or shorter.

**Warning: **Language, some implied sexual thoughts, violence

**Disclaimer: **All character except the three men at the end are GRRM's creative property, I only have the losers.

A Sword with Wings

Arya was not pleased when she awoke to find herself being carried away from the Brotherhood, and even less pleased to find out that they had left her friend Gendry behind. Sansa had tried to explain that it had been Gendry's choice to stay with them, Sandor tried to explain that his horse wouldn't carry that many. Even now, Stranger only put up with them because Sansa and Arya were both so light.

"We will need another horse eventually." Sandor said.

"Then why didn't you take one when we were with the brotherhood?" Arya answered defiantly, "We could have taken one and been gone, all four of us!"

"There any wasn't time, or any need." Sandor replied roughly, growling over Sansa's shoulder to Arya, "The cunts already had Stranger packed and ready to go for me, it would've taken too long to get another horse ready."

The argument seemed to go on forever, Arya completely and fully convinced that there was something they could have done to bring Gendry with them, while Sandor remained set in his belief that there was nothing they could have or should have done. It was Sansa's job to mediate them, and even her good manners were wearing thin quickly.

"Consider yourself lucky." Sandor said after a few minutes of blessed silence when Sansa had finally snapped at them both to just drop it. "If we hadn't brought you with us, you would've tried to escape yourself, wouldn't you? You don't want to be on your own out here. Someone worse than me would find you."

"There's no one worse than you." Arya answered bitterly, Sandor rolled his eyes at her. He'd killed more men, women and even children than he cared to count under orders from Joffery and the Lannister family. He never regretted any of their deaths until now, and even then, he felt no real remorse for the damn butcher's boy. Just a sense that his death was going to continue to be unnecessarily brought up.

Sansa opened her mouth to tell Arya to watch what she said, but Sandor spoke faster than she did, "You never knew my brother," He snorted, thinking back on the many crimes Gregor had committed, under orders or not."Once killed a man for snoring."

He remembered, almost randomly, that Arya had been there the day Ser Gregor had killed Ser Hugh at the tourney, but Sandor couldn't recall if the little Wolf bitch had been present when Ser Loras had nearly been killed by him as well. Arya had probably not seen how Sandor had stepped between his brother and the knight of the flowers when all anyone else could do was gasp. Sansa would have said he was brave.

Sandor shoved the thought aside and continued, "There's many men worse than me. Men who like to beat little girls. Men who like to _rape_ them" Sansa stiffened in her seat, obviously remembering what had almost happened to her during the riot of Flea Bottom. Sandor scooted a little closer to her, "Go on, Little Bird. Tell your bitch sister how I saved you from some of them." He commanded into her ear.

Arya turned around surprised, looking passed Sansa to the Hound, "You're lying." She accused.

Sansa spoke with a wavering voice that Sandor recognized as her trying not to cry, "No, it's true. A mob in Flea Bottom. He was the only one who came back for me." Arya finally looked at her and saw the horror on her face.

"They would've taken her if I hadn't found her." Sandor said calmly, "Taken her every which way and left her there with her throat cut open."

"Please stop." Sansa whimpered, she could smell the ground her face had been pressed into, feel the greasy bodies of her attackers, she even heard the whisper, _have you ever been fucked little girl?_

Then she heard his voice, almost uncharacteristically gentle after he slaughtered the men that had attacked her. _You're alright now Little Bird, you're alright..._

"And you _wouldn't_, given the chance?" Arya snapped, without any regard to Sansa's discomfort.

Not that Sandor was any better. "Little Bird, tell your sister how many opportunities I've had to fuck you senseless." He ordered.

"What?" Sansa gasped around fierce beating of her heart.

"Exactly." He said sternly, as if this ended the discussion, suddenly Sandor let go of the reins and wrapped his arms around Sansa's waist, pulling her back against him so her rear was pressed against his groin. Sansa gasped and struggled, Sandor only gripped her tighter to further his point. "Any night out on the King's Road I could've. In any dark corner of the Red Keep, I could've finished what your would-be rapers started if I wished. Or the night we left King's Landing, any other man would've been waiting on your bed just to fuck you and leave. I could've even snuck into your room all the way back in Winterfell if I wanted, had my way with you, and there's nothing you could do to stop me."

Sandor's lips were next to her ear, his nose in her hair, he could smell tears dripped over Sansa's flushed cheeks. The muscles in his belly tightened and he felt heat rising to his own cheeks as she gasped in his harsh grip. He be lying if he said the thought of having Sansa hadn't crossed his mind more than once. The Hound wasn't exactly sure when those thoughts had started, but he was careful never get too attached to his fantasies.

"You wouldn't." She mewled.

_No Little Bird, I won't hurt you._

Sandor released her just as suddenly as he had grabbed her, "No, I wouldn't." He said, with that same surprisingly gentle tone he'd used when he had saved her, and again when he promised not to hurt her. Still as soon as she was released, Sansa scooted forward, as far away from him as she could get without knocking Arya off the horse, or falling herself.

Sandor only chuckled and slid off Stranger's back to walk. Sansa had once asked him if he found joy in scaring people, to which he'd responded with the truth: no, he enjoyed _killing_ people. Scaring Sansa though? That was fun from time to time. The way she got flustered when she tried to redirect his cruelties with some courtesy she had be taught and her eyes flickered when she was uncomfortable. It was a delight. Unlike Joffery, however, Sandor knew when the line had been crossed and put some distance between himself and the Little Bird whenever he took the game too far, like just now.

Stranger's ears flattened and he gave an irritated nicker, Sandor stroked his nose to assure the beast that it was alright for the girls to be on his back without him. They'd better find another horse soon, Sandor had no intention of walking all the way to the Twins, and he wasn't hopeful that Stranger would tolerate the girls that long.

There were a few more minutes of silence before the Little Bird started chirping again. Damn the girl for not being able to stay quiet, but bless her for having an almost magical ability to talk about something different between each period of silence, unlike her sister who seemed dead set on turning every conversation into one about the butcher's boy.

It was quiet tempting to leave Arya tied to a tree somewhere and tell Robb and Catelyn where they could find her once Sansa was safe.

The Little Bird chirped about her mother and brother, what she had heard from the Brotherhood without Banners about them and Winterfell. Sandor didn't like what he was hearing, but didn't care enough to change the subject. Although, among the things Sansa said was a plan the Brotherhood had spoken of to sell the Stark sisters to their family in order to fund their efforts. That didn't sound like a bad idea.

He voiced this opinion as an attempt at a joke, the results were -of course- the reason he didn't tell jokes. "I can't believe after all we went through to get away from the Brotherhood, you're just going to ransom us away for money, just like them!" Arya pouted.

"So it _is_ 'we' now is it?" Sandor taunted, "And I only plan to sell one of you. Sansa goes home for free."

"What?" Arya turned her head, "Why are you selling me, but not my sister."

"Because _I like_ your sister." Sandor responded plainly, and his face darkened as he continued "I _don't_ like you."

"Beside, you didn't do anything." Sansa said suddenly, "If you remember, you didn't want to come. I think the Hound's perfectly justified if he wants to be paid a little for putting up with you." She played along with teasing Arya.

"More likely I'd like to be paid for bringing her home in one piece once this is over." He replied, "I'm still going to need more than what you managed to steal out from the Brotherhood when I get you to your family, provided we don't spend it all in next town we reach."

He could appreciate Sansa's attempt to be useful. Stealing money from the Brotherhood? He knew grown men who didn't have the balls for that. She hadn't gotten nearly enough to cover what had been stolen from him. It was a good attempt though, and Sandor let her bask in the pride of her meager accomplishment.

But what the Little Bird failed to realize was that the gold and silver did them absolutely no good.

Sandor didn't know where they were, or when the next time they'd see a place to spend money would be. What good did it do to have some shiny coins when there was nothing to spend it on? Perhaps this was his fault for making such a big deal about his gold, it was more an issue of pride and anger that the Brotherhood had taken what was rightfully his than any immediate need for it.

What they needed was food. He didn't know what had become of the pack horse after he'd sent Sansa off, but without the supplies it had been carrying they were vastly under prepared for the journey ahead. A tavern with cheap wine and even cheaper food would be a welcome sight right about now. Especially the wine, gods, he needed a drink.

While his thoughts were occupied with concerns about what he needed to do, Sandor's concentration broke just long enough to note that Sansa's chirping had continued without him. And she was chirping about him now, trying to convince her sister that he wasn't a monster, by telling her how they had come to be captured by the Brotherhood to begin with.

Her compliments were a little flattering at first, but as Sandor listened, flattery became embarrassment and then quickly gave way to annoyance. She was overpraising him, giving too much credit to his cleverness, and speaking too highly of his honor. Fuck all that. He'd said what he said because it was the truth, and he'd hoped to stay alive, and if not, at least die quickly for mouthing off to them.

Sandor didn't want to hear anymore of this, but wasn't really in the mood to protest, so his face molded itself into his usual dark scowl as he turned back toward the girls. His glower spoke for itself, and ended the discussion quickly. It would only be a matter of time before the Little Bird started chirping again, he knew, she always had something to say. He wasn't in the mood to try and get her to sing though.

The last few days were an absolute blur to him. Sandor wasn't sure how long he'd been unconscious, a day, a few days, a week, he didn't dare ask. All he remembered was a quickly fading dream of Sansa sitting at his side singing a song to him. It had to be a dream, he was sure. His Little Bird didn't know any songs any more, she'd said, stuck in her cage too long.

While the three of them remained quiet, Sandor took a moment to think about why he wanted to hear her sing. He didn't really, he never cared for songs, and his initial request to hear one, a song about knights and fair maidens...He'd been mocking her at the time, but since then this silly promise of a song had become engrained in his head like a rope pulling a drowning man to shore.

"What do you intend for yourself after this is finished, my lord?" The Little Bird was chirping again.

The question caught him off guard, and Sandor had to think for a moment when he realized that he had no plan for after. His thoughts were focused entirely on protecting Sansa, keeping her alive and returning her to her family. He wasn't thinking beyond that point, as if that was his single purpose in life, get Sansa home even if the act of doing so killed him.

Sandor's silence ticked on beyond the point where he could pretend he already had something in mind, and he answered as calmly as he could. "I don't know...Perhaps I'll go over to the Free Cities... become a sellsword or bodyguard for some rich family." That wasn't a plan, the girls could probably tell he hadn't thought about it until now.

It was odd, Sandor realized, that he was suddenly so determined to get Sansa to safety that he had no regard for his own life to the point where he literally did not see himself living past achieving that goal. Even his life's desire to kill his brother, or at least live to see Gregor killed, didn't seem to matter that much anymore.

"Robb could use all the swords he can get." Sansa offered suddenly. Or maybe not so suddenly, Sandor hadn't really been paying attention. "You could join the Stark army."

"He's a Lannister man." Arya snorted, "Or has been one long enough that Robb would never take him."

"Hate to agree with the Wolf Bitch, but I doubt your brother would trust me on his side even if you did plead for my case." Sandor added, "And I'm tired of taking orders from older families." Actually he was just tired in general, not that he needed sleep, but just tired, like some weight had been bearing down on him his whole life and he'd only just now noticed.

Sansa didn't seem to want to accept that though, "But he'll want to send some men to retake Winterfell." She said, "You brought us this far, we- or at least _I_- could probably convince him to let you stay on as my guard when we go home."

The Little Bird seemed dead set on this idea of keeping him around, Sandor shrugged but didn't say anything. Living to be Sansa's bodyguard seemed like a much better idea than the complete void of nothing he already had planned. Other than a few protests from Arya about not wanting anything to do with him, the conversation dried up after that.

He wondered what the Little Bird would chirp about next.

It was Arya that first commented about a foul smell in the air, Sandor hadn't noticed it at first, but knew the scent: Something dead. Sansa covered her nose to it immediately, Stranger continued forward as unbothered by the smell of death as his rider, and Arya piped a a curious remark. Sandor didn't share her curiosity, a dead animal probably, carrion left over from some larger beast's kill.

He pushed some branches out of the way and found the source, a dead horse, ripped and eaten at by wild animals. Just like he thought. Stranger continued to be unbothered by it and Sandor was about to press on without a second thought to it, until he noticed the tattered packs strapped to the horse.

The dead mare was the very same one that he and Sansa had brought along with them from the farm. Upon realizing this, he let go of Stranger's reins and stepped over to see if there was anything salvageable from the pack. The bag itself was in pretty decent shape, it was torn at the edges and something had gotten in, but it would hold together.

Supplies were scattered across the ground, most of it unusable now, and all the food had been eaten, but Sandor did manage to find the whetstone, some spare knives and a small pot they could use for stews. Most of Sansa's dresses had been torn to pieces, but he did find one with a hood that she could still wear. There was some good rope, a small fishing net and flasks for water too.

Sandor packed each salvageable item into the bag carefully, looking for one item in particular. Sansa had brought a doll with her when they'd left the Red Keep. She had still been holding it the next day when he told her to look for things around the farm that they could use. He assumed she had packed it into the bag with the things she had found, but it didn't appear to be here now.

He didn't know that she'd left it behind.

It was a small thing, but Sansa had been through a lot of emotional trauma during her time in King's Landing. Sandor knew what that was like, having experience a big deal of trauma himself at her age, and throughout his life, and witnessed it in other people too. An object, a weapon or a toy could end up be an important comfort item. Holding it, or even just touching it, could be as protective as a suit of armor and sword made from the strongest steel.

Sandor had no such thing himself, instead he was quick to bury himself in and alternate persona which had come to be called The Hound. Few people spoke to Sandor Clegane these days, in fact, Sansa was the only one that came immediately to mind- Sometimes he wasn't sure he knew who Sandor was himself anymore.

He couldn't let that happen to Sansa.

If he could help her stay herself, then perhaps there was hope for him...

But there was no sign of the doll. Sandor was forced to give up and simply sling the bag over his shoulder as he returned to Stranger and the girls. "Oh stop that." He growled to his horse, who had his ears flat, was baring his teeth and padding the ground. Stranger didn't seem to like being left along with the Starks.

Well, he may not have found the doll, but the supplies Sandor managed to recover would come in handy. When they stopped to camp he could set some traps and maybe catch a rabbit, or put that fishing net to use.

The rest of the day was spent in periods of silence or sudden, short bits of conversation. Sansa and Arya reminisced about Winterfell and good times they'd had with their family. Sandor occasionally and a word or two to say on something, but kept mostly to himself. He hated the way they said the word 'Brother', like it it was a good thing. Sandor had more emotional attachment to his horse than his brother, and anytime he had a remark about his own upbringing the word came out of his mouth like curse. The girls quickly learned not to ask about his family.

The sky started to darken, Sandor helped the girls off Stranger and had them gather firewood while he made snares. Probably wouldn't catch anything in time for an evening meal, but he hoped by morning they'd have something for breakfast. With Sansa in his company, he was certain Arya wouldn't go running off. After they had a fire going, Sansa lead Sandor to a pond she had found, there were small fish swimming around, and not many of them, but if they could catch a few, it would be better than going to sleep on empty bellies.

That night was the first that Sandor slept away from Sansa. The sisters were cuddled together for comfort, Sandor sat against a tree, he could hear them whispering, but didn't listen in. He was angry, suddenly, that Arya was now with them. He wanted it to be just him and Sansa, if only for a few more days. He seethed in silence against the tree.

Sandor already acknowledged the fact that he harbored some desires for Sansa. The fantasies that he tried not to attach himself to, were never immediate, he always imagined encounters occurring years into the future, at times when she was married to Joffery.

_"You'll be glad of the hateful things I do someday when you're queen, and I'm all that stands between you and your beloved king."_

He was gentle with Sansa, far more than he was with anyone else. Sandor was no great romantic, but surly after a few years of the king's cruelties and the Hound's hateful defenses, his bed would seem welcoming than Joffery's. The Queen and the King's Sworn Shield, a secret, forbidden passion that rivaled those told in the songs she loved so much...

If she ever wanted to, at least.

No great romantic indeed. That was the best he could do. A slow, half-thought out seduction plan that only _might_ work. She could always find comfort in someone else. Some one better suited to her.

The Hound was used to not getting what he wanted, it wouldn't wound him terribly if she never accepted his desires.

Ugh, why in Seven Hells was he thinking about this _now_? They were far from King's Landing, far from Joffery, and far from his fantasy. Even if Sandor stayed to be Sansa's body guard, he doubted he'd ever have..._Fuck_!

Sandor pulled his knees to his chest and faced away from the girls. He closed his eyes, but sleep evaded him most of the night. The whispering of the girls ended and the fire died out, the only evidence Sandor had that he dreamed at all was a brief dream of unsheathing his sword so Sansa could kiss it.

Morning's light hit his eyes, Sandor figured he wasn't going to get any sleep before they needed to move on. The shadow of trees covered the girls, but Sandor let them sleep while he checked the traps he'd set the night before. Nothing, disappointing.

He returned to the campsite, got the whetstone from the back and drew his sword. The blade and been reforged like new, and he'd never say it out loud but the engraving was beautifully added. He hated it, but this pretty, well made thing was bound to catch a few eyes, perhaps he could sell it or trade for something less memorable.

That was his real problem with it. It was memorable. If he was seen using this sword the design was something that could be described, exaggerated, and remembered. People already knew him on sight because of his burn, or if he had his helmet, there was only one like it. He didn't need this pretty sword too. Especially not when he was protecting the two most wanted girls in the Kingdoms with it.

That was the perfect premise to a heroic song he didn't want any part in.

Sandor ran the whetstone along the blade, a lifetime of doing so made him deaf to the sound it made until Sansa and Arya were awoken by it. The Little Bird offered him morning pleasantries which he acknowledged with only a nod. The Wolf Bitch asked if there was anything in the traps, he didn't reply, which was answer enough.

Sandor continued sharpening his blade while Sansa took Arya over to the pond to freshen up. He thought she just meant to wash their faces and hands or whatever, but he put his sword away and they hadn't returned he had to check. He found they'd undressed and were actually bathing. His gaze lingered on Sansa, she was submerged to her chest so he couldn't actually see anything, but Sandor caught himself staring and backed away before either of the girls did.

When he was out of sight he called, "Are you girls done yet, or are we waiting for the sun to get high?" Sandor could hear them splashing. He stayed out of sight until they were both dressed, Arya had no change of clothes, but Sansa had switched to the hooded dress.

Her hair was wet, but Sandor noticed the water dripping off it wasn't exactly clean, the dye he'd used on it was cheap and already starting to come out. They'd have to get more or forget about dyeing it. "Come on!" He urged, leading them back to Stranger.

It must've been great to be a horse, oats and carrots were a nice treat, but Stranger could get by just grazing. Sandor's stomach growled and he considered staying at this campsite a little longer in hopes of catching a rabbit, but he didn't trust that the brotherhood wasn't looking for them. Better get a move on.

Sandor helped the girls onto Stranger's back and hushed the warhorse when he protested, and again walked along beside. The anger he'd been feeling the night before, in addition to his lack of sleep, made him more irritable today than he had been the one before. The Little Bird's chirping got on his nerves quickly and the Hound silenced her with a few barks.

Days of riding were taking it's toll on Sansa though, and she slid off Stranger's back, opting to walk on the opposite side of the horse for a while. Stranger's ears were still laying flat but the perked up a little once Sansa was off. Huhn, and here Sandor thought his horse was beginning to like her. At least she stayed quiet now.

"Can I see your sword?" This question came from Arya, not Sansa. "The One Gendry made you?"

Sandor felt a conflict of not wanting to humor her, and not wanting to start another fight. Eventually he drew his sword without comment, intending to let Arya have a quick look at it, and put it away, But Arya took the sword from him for a closer look.

"It's beautiful." She said, Sandor didn't reply with more than a disinterested grunt, he almost told her to keep it, maybe that'd make her like him. "Have you named it yet?"

"What?" Sandor turned his head sharply to her, "No! Why would I name it!?"

Arya looked at him like he was the idiot, "All the best swords have names."

His thoughts went immediately Joffery and his sword 'Hearteater'. Stupid name. "You mean only cunts name their swords." Sandor growled

"My friend Gendry forged this sword." She said, with narrow eyes "I think he'd like it to have a name."

"Then he should have kept it and named it himself." Sandor snorted.

Sansa looked over the horse for a look at the blade, "What if you call it Lightbane?"

He couldn't believe Sansa was going on this naming business too. "It's a _sword_." He replied, "If I drop it on the battlefield, it's not going to come back to me just because I gave it a pretty name."

"You should call it Flamestrike," Arya said, "Since it was forged from the sword that caught fire."

"It didn't catch fire, it was just hot." Sandor argued, "And I'm not naming it."

"Bloodweep, you like blood and making people cry, don't you?"

"What about Steelwing, for the design?"

"Or Redblade, and people will wonder why it's called that until you throw it into the fire and then pull it out red-hot."

"You could call it Silverwing. That sounds nice."

"He's not nice. Name it Bloodfire. Even you have to admit that's a good name."

"Are you girls listening?" Sandor took his sword out of Arya's hand and slid it back into it's sheath, "I am _not_ naming this sword." He was getting rid of it the first chance he got, but he wasn't going to say that. He'd never hear the end of it from the Wolf Bitch.

That seemed to end the discussion. The girls fell into a disappointed silence which lasted far longer than any so far. The sun was high when they stopped because of another smell that wafted to their nostrils. Unlike the day before, this was not the stench of decay, but the inviting aroma of a hot meal.

If they weren't going a second day without food, or had some rations, Sandor would have pressed on. But the scent made his mouth water, and Arya looked around as if trying to find the source herself. Even Sansa cast a hopeful glance his way. Hmm, maybe her courtesies could be put to use in convincing whoever was out there to share their meal.

If not, the damned sword was still good for something.

The group remained cautious as they neared the source, through the break in the trees Sandor could see the cook fire, and the outline of a wagon. He heard some voices and the prattle of uneasy horses. He gripped the hilt of his sword, getting a little uneasy himself. Sandor let go of Stranger's reigns and motioned for Arya to get off.

He broke through the cover of the trees first and came across a very familiar sight. Lannister banners. _Shit_, he thought and tried to warn the girls to stay back, but it was too late, the three of them were spotted. "Hey, you!"

Sandor gripped his sword as one of two men called out to them. They were obviously part of a larger group, foot soldiers at best, cannon fodder more likely. Behind them a wagon with a cage, three weakened prisoners inside staring at them with hardly any life in their eyes. Where were the rest of the soldiers?

"Hold on, is that...?" The second man stood from the fire and a pot that smelled like everything good in the world, his eyes narrowed in a squint, "Oi! It is! You're the Hound!"

Neither of them made mention of the girls, Sandor's grip relaxed on his sword, but only slightly. "Aye. I am." He said when the men failed to grab for their swords. Seemed news of his desertion hadn't reached this far yet. Good.

Or not good.

The men looked as excited by his presence as foolish girls did with the knights in their shiny armor. Oh, Seven Hells, they were _admirers_ of his. That would mean he would have to talk to them about the work he'd done for the Lannisters, and pretend he cared about discussing it.

However, it did mean he and his companions were invited to join them for lunch. "Oh, where is Rodgers?" The first soldier, a dark haired lad who couldn't be more than sixteen who had introduced himself as Frandric something-or-other almost bounced on his feet, "The Hound himself, sharing a meal with us. He won't believe us if he doesn't come back."

"Eh, he went to find some place to piss." The other man replied, brown haired and probably closer to twenty, but still as giddy. Sandor hadn't caught his name, but he was pretty sure it had begun with a 'C'.

"And the rest of your caravan?" Sandor asked, casting a glance to Sansa and Arya, _I do the talking_, he commanded silently.

"They're a day ahead of us." Frandric answered passing him a bowl of rabbit stew, which he passed to Sansa, who passed it to Arya. Sandor gave the second bowl to her too, and accepted the third for himself. "Where we headed?" He asked his companion.

The other man shrugged, "Rodgers would know." Sandor took a bite of the stew, and couldn't bother to be polite about scarfing it down. "And where you off to? Some business for the King?"

"You could say that." Sandor replied, half of his bowl was already gone and he shoveled another spoonful in his mouth to avoid having to speak. Well, courtesies had their uses.

"And who are you two?" Frandrick asked, addressing the girls, Sansa had her mouth full as well to dodge the question, but Arya had to answer.

"I'm Arry. Arry Waters, his bastard." She looked the men straight in the eye when she said it, a far better liar than Sansa, she nodded to her sister, "She's some nobleman's daughter, he was asked to take her away from King's Landing because of the war. Father wants me to live with her until the fighting's done."

Sansa finished her mouthful and added, "My name is Jolee." She used the same name as before, the one he'd told her might have belonged to his sister, at least it was consistent. Sansa did not look at them when she spoke, but they didn't ask questions. Either the lie was convincing enough, or they were just that stupid.

They were offered another bowl of stew and Sandor dodged answering questions about the girls and where they were going with short, meaningless answers. He was curious about the wagon, and what they were doing, but his curiosity was not enough to overcome how much he didn't want to talk to them, and only the stew kept Sandor from just leaving.

"Aye! Save some of that stew for us, eh?" One of the prisoners in the wagon called.

"Shut it!" Frandric hissed, and continued to try to press Sandor into talking about the things he'd done, people he'd killed, the battle said to have gone on not that long ago.

Conversation dried up quickly when Sandor refused to discuss it, leading to an awkward silence which Sandor hated the most out of any unwanted conversation. Sansa set down her bowl, "Thank you for sharing your meal with us, but the King will want his dog back as soon as possible, and we don't want to keep you from-"

She was interrupted by the approach of the third man, "Is that stew ready to eat yet, because I'm about ready to bite off my own-" He stopped mid sentence when he saw the Hound, Sandor braced himself for another round of over enthusiastic greetings, but Rodgers glanced behind him to Sansa and Arya.

And Sandor realized that he knew Rodgers from King's Landing.

The boy must have been someone's squire before the war started, he obviously had to have been there recently enough to recognized the Stark girls. He opened his mouth to say something, but Sandor couldn't let them be identified and he had his knife drawn and thrown before Rodger could say anything.

The blade caught his throat, there were startled gasps all around, Sandor drew his sword as Frandric and the other man rushed to their companion's side. He saw the man's lips move, and thought he could read the name 'Stark' on them. No words were spoken by the other two, swords were drawn and in a moment they were fighting.

They almost seemed to think they could take him on if they both attacked at once, but Sandor was far too skilled for them. The man who's name Sandor never caught was the first to fall, when he sidestepped a frontal assault and knocked him to the ground with the butt of his sword.

Sandor stepped on his back to assure he wouldn't get back up while he fought off Frandric. For all his praises about Sandor's swordplay, Frandric could barely hold one himself, he was disarmed in a few strokes and knocked onto his backside with a single punch. Sandor then buried his sword into the man on the ground, through the heart, before he turned to Frandric and sliced him nearly in two.

With the Lannister foot soldiers dead, they couldn't stay here. Sandor sheathed his sword again without wiping it off and turned to the girls, noticing first that Sansa had drawn her knife, and second she wasn't using the correct grip.

"You're holding that wrong." He told her as he stepped back toward them. There wasn't time for a lesson though, and Sandor pushed her toward the horses tied to the wagon. "Get two of those horses and get to Stranger." He instructed.

Sansa nodded, but didn't move, "You should call it Firebird." She said, going on about that business of naming his sword again.

Before Sandor said a word about it though, she tugged for Arya to come with her and help with the horses. Sandor went to the bodies of the men he'd killed and searched them for anything that might be of use, a map or a parchment with their orders, he didn't like that there were Lannister men out this far.

He found key's to the prisoners cage, which was good enough at least be a distraction, to hide who had really killed these men. Sandor waited until Sansa and Arya were out of sight before he released them. The men were desperate for food and immediately ran over to the fire to finish off the stew. Sandor climbed into the wagon to continue a search for anything of use.

Inside, he found some dried meat and fruits, a bag of horse feed and carrots. Still wouldn't last more than a week if properly rationed, but it was better than continuing with nothing, Sandor grabbed it and returned swiftly to the girls. He tied the two horses they'd brought together and put the pack on one after he helped them on to the other. Sandor hopped back on Stranger and lead the way through the clearing and into another section of forest.

They didn't stop until nightfall. The new horses were military bred, but not as disciplined as Stranger, Sandor had to tie them to a tree to be sure they wouldn't run off in the night. There was a stream nearby that Sandor used to wash his face and clean the blood off his sword. Of the names he had heard today, 'Firebird' was the one that least bothered him, but he still wasn't calling it that, even if Sansa and Arya seemed to be in agreement that it was a great name.

Firebird...Sandor was certain he'd heard of something by that name...He sat away from the girls again, he told them not to build a fire since it might attract unwanted visitors. The sisters huddled against each other while Sandor thought about that name...Firebird, why did it sound familiar?

He closed his eyes after a while and it came back to him slowly. Some mythical being he'd read about or someone told him of as a boy. Unlike dragons, there were no stories of men battling them, or riding them to battle. They were said to burst into flames when they died, only to be reborn from their own ashes.

Sandor couldn't help drawing the parallel with what had become of his blade...It would it be a pretty fitting name if he weren't so against the idea of naming it. He still didn't even intend to keep it.

Sansa's sudden scream woke him when Sandor hadn't even known he was asleep. He jumped up, hand on his sword, it was too dark to make out details, but the moon was still bright and round, showing nothing but Arya scrambling back from her flailing sister.

The Little Bird appeared to be having nothing more than a nightmare, but Sandor dashed to her side as if she were hurt. "Wake up!" he growled grabbing Sansa and shaking her, "Wake up! Little Bird wake up, it's just a dream!"

She beat his chest, "Mother! Rob!" She cried.

"Sansa!" He shouted, and at her eyes snapped open, glimmering in the moonlight, wide with terror. She clutched at him crying, and he did his best to comfort her until Arya returned to them and Sandor passed Sansa over to her.

"Just a bad dream, Sansa." Arya said, stroking her sister's hair.

"It was so real..." Sansa sobbed.

"What happened?" Arya asked, Sandor felt like he shouldn't be part of this, but he couldn't seem to move away, he needed to hear what was upsetting her.

"I saw Mother, and Rob..." Sansa wiped tears away from her face, but they were only replaced with fresh ones. Sandor took a cloth from his pocket and wiped her face, only to meet the same results.

"Sansa..." Arya urged.

The elder Stark sister calmed after a few moments, and whispered out so quietly that Sandor wasn't sure he'd heard her right. "They were dead..."


	8. Chapter 8

_**Author's Note: **__I apologize for the delay in writing this chapter, I got stuck on a conversation transition towards the end of the chapter._

_**Warning: **__Arya's pov, language, Arya and Sandor acting like two year olds._

_**Disclaimer: **__As always, the characters in this story are all copywrite George RR Martin, the only exceptions being my original characters, the first of which is lightly mentioned in this chapter._

_A Sword with Wings._

_"You must be one of the Starks..."_

Arya opened her eyes with a start when something touched her shoulder. She glanced around, but nothing seemed terribly amiss, as the dream faded away from her.

Sansa's nightmare had been so vivid that she refused to even try to go back to sleep until the Hound came and laid closer to them, much to Arya's displeasure. Her own dreams, while strange, were not frightening. As she blinked her eyes, the hooting of a large owl faded away, merely part of her dream lingering about her still..

She was laying on her side, her sister was holding her from behind, and the Hound was behind her, one arm draped over Sansa and his fingers brushed Arya's shoulder. It was _his_ touch that had awakened the younger Stark and she swatted his hand away. She rolled over slightly to find Sansa was actually awake, dark circles under her eyes suggested that she had slept very little, or not at all. Arya scooted a little closer, "Are you alright?" She whispered.

Sansa didn't say anything, but slowly nodded. Arya got on her knees and started to lift the Hound's arm off her sister, but Sansa shook her head this time, "No." She whimpered, the Hound only snored.

Arya sighed and sat back, "Try to sleep Sansa." She said quietly, Sansa's eyes remained open, staring ahead into nothing, her thoughts elsewhere. Arya stood up, stretched, and wandered the clearing where they had stopped for the night, and after a moment climbed a tree.

The leaves in the forest were starting to change color, and they were crispier than usual, the morning air was also chillier day after day. _Winter is coming_, those were the words of House Stark, but it seemed that Winter truly was coming now. Arya pushed aside a few branches and looked at the landscape before her.

The sun was just barely rising, a golden ridge on the edge of a blood colored sky. Just enough light was cast by it to paint the world with a beautiful radiance, contrasted by dark shadows. There was a river in view, they could probably reach it by midday. In the distance, Arya made out a large shape, could be a castle or a rock formation, it was too far away to tell. The twins perhaps? The Hound and Sansa had said that Robb was there with their mother, but aside from the Hound mentioning that he intended to ransom her to her family, Arya hadn't heard if they were _actually_ going to the Twins, or further North in search of Robb's camp.

To the her left, Arya saw forests, meadows, hills and perhaps rarely used roads. To her right she saw more of the same, and some tributaries, smaller rivers feeding the larger one ahead of them. She wished they had a map so she had a better idea of where they were, and where a port might be.

Arya let go of the branches and reached into her clothes for the strange coin that had been given to her. "_Valar Morghulis_." She muttered out loud to herself. The phrase had been in her head every night since she was reunited with Sansa, right after each silent run through her list.

She didn't dare say the names aloud, not with the Hound actually there, and she knew Sansa would never approve of having a list of people she intended to kill. Sansa would argue with her about it, and she didn't want to argue, not while they were the only family they had.

"See anything interesting up there, Wolf Bitch?" The Hound barked suddenly, almost making Arya drop her coin, "Or should I start calling you a squirrel?"

Arya tucked her coin back into he pocket and scrambled back down, "I'm not a squirrel!" She huffed. The Hound moved passed her, he was making fun of her, she knew it, but he didn't laugh.

He went to the pack horse and rummaged through it a moment before returning to where Sansa was now sitting up and taking a seat beside her. The Hound looked back at her, "Well, come on Squirrel, do you want food or are you going to starve?"

"_I'm not a squirrel_!" Arya protested louder, the Hound still wasn't laughing, but she saw a twinkle of amusement in his eyes as she approached.

Their morning fast was broken with few stripes of salted meat and dried fruit. It was small and barely satisfying, but if the Hound was good for something, it was knowing how to ration.

And killing people.

Arya hated to admit it, but the Hound was an incredible killer. Perhaps not as amazing as Jaqen, but when the Hound had attacked those Lannister men, Arya couldn't help being impressed with how easily he had dispatched them. True, the men were hardly sword masters, but still...

She hated that she admired him.

Arya was almost as foolish as Sansa the day the party from King's Landing arrived, gaping and wide eyed at the scores of men on horses, the beautiful Ladies, and armored knights. Then a man who wasn't a knight rode in. Sandor Clegane had stood out among the all the other men in armor, not because of his dog-head helm, but something about the way he carried himself, Arya couldn't stop staring at him.

Any small wonders about the possibility of befriending a man like him died when he killed Mycah.

They ate in silence, the Hound didn't appear to be quite awake yet, and Sansa appeared to only be thinking of the dream that had frightened her so much. She'd given them as much detail about it as she could, a dream about a castle, fire, Greywind's tortured howl, Lannister banners, Rob and mother's bodies broken and mangled.

Telling Sansa that it was just a dream didn't help. Nor had the Hound's attempt to explain that she was just nervous because they'd seen Lannister men the day before and they were so close. "_You're just afraid you're not going to make it._" He'd said.

Arya pushed the last of her meager meal into her mouth and stood up, heading to the horses. They'd be on the move again soon, Sansa followed after her, but when the Hound stood he called them back over to him. "Take out your knife." He told Sansa, while he took one off his belt and handed it to Arya.

Sansa did as she was told, lifting her skirt and taking the knife from it's hiding place. Arya stared at the blade the Hound had put in her hand. She'd already tried to kill him once, stabbed him several times, and now only about a week later he was handing her a knife. Was he brave or stupid?

The Hound looked at her, eyes narrow as if thinking the same thing, but when he spoke, it was almost a compliment, "Not bad, Wolf Bitch, you at least know how to hold it." While Arya detested being called that, but sadly it was better than being called a squirrel. "Just like that, see how your sister is holding it?" This time he was addressing Sansa.

Arya looked over to her and saw that indeed Sansa was holding the knife wrong and held hers up higher so she could see the correct grip. "No, like this." She moved a little closer and helped her sister reposition her fingers, "You're not buttering bread, put your thumb here so you have a better hold."

Sansa did as she was told, Arya glanced of to the Hound, wondering why he cared whether or not Sansa could hold a knife properly. "If those men we ran into yesterday were telling the truth, we may meet more of them." He said, "I can't fight off all of them at once, so you'd best be able to defend yourself until I can get you. Now show me your fighting stance."

As instructed, Arya turned to face him, putting her legs apart the way she saw her brothers do when they were practicing. Sansa didn't seem to have the first clue about what that meant. The Hound chastised Arya first, "No, no, you're using a knife not a sword, you'll be thrown right on your ass. Put your weight on the balls of your feet."

The Hound continued to instruct them on how to hold the knife, switch grip, hold a stance and move while holding the knife until the sun peeked over the top of the branches. The Hound seemed satisfied with their progress, and even let Arya keep the knife he'd handed to her, but as he led the way over to the horses he said, "Until we reach your family, you are going to be practicing using those knives in the mornings, before you go to sleep, and anytime we stop. Understand?"

"Yes." the sisters agreed, Arya would very much like to practice using the knife on the Hound, but kept that thought to herself. She wished she was bigger so she didn't have to have him lift her on to the horse.

He had been wrong the other day, when he said she never knew his brother. Arya had gotten to know the Mountain that Rides quite well during her stay in Harrenhal. The elder Clegane brother was every bit of the monster she thought he was. It continued to surprise her that the younger one wasn't... not exactly, at any rate.

The Hound was vicious, brutal, cruel and disgusting, but Sansa spoke about him as if he had a heart of gold buried deep under layers of vile barriers. Arya didn't believe that was completely true, not with the way he treated her, but he certainly was far kinder to Sansa. He even seemed to hold her more gently when he lifted her sister onto his horse at her request to ride with him.

Did they _know_ they were doing that?

The group wasn't in much of a hurry since there had been no sign of Lannister men all morning, the Hound suggested that they not draw attention to themselves by moving too quickly. The sun reached it's peek without any more than ten words being spoken between the three of them, and even then it was mostly the Hound muttering some command to his horse. Arya felt it was too quiet and realized Sansa hadn't said a word since they'd gotten on the horses. Was she still freaked out about her dream?

With Sansa not trying to keep a conversation up, Arya tried her best to take the responsibility, awkwardly trying to comfort her sister by talking about her own strange nighttime fantasy. "So I had an interesting dream too last night." She said, pulling her horse close to Stranger, the war horse flattened his ear, almost as ill mannered as the Hound himself. "It was about Nymeria- actually I _was_ Nymeria."

The Hound snorted as if finding the discussion of dreams the most ridiculous of topics they'd talked about over the last couple of days. Sansa on the other hand looked at her with her interest piqued at the mention of the wolf. "What happened?" she asked.

Arya shrugged a bit, "Not much at first, I was in a forest much further north than here, I could tell by the trees." She said, "But then I saw an owl. A really big owl and I could have sworn it wanted me to follow it, so I did."

"Following dream owls..." The Hound muttered audibly and rolled his eyes.

She ignored him, continuing her dream, "I followed it for a long time, and then it landed on a rock by a tree. There was a really old woman there, very skinny, kind of scary, but she was petting the owl very kindly so I went over to her." She paused, thinking of the strangeness of the next part of her dream, "The old woman turned at looked at me, and she seemed to see _me_, not Nymeria. I know because she smiled at at me and said, 'you must be one of the Starks'..."

Sansa blinked at her, "And then what happened?" She asked.

"And then I woke up." Arya replied.

"And that's what you call an interesting dream, Wolf Bitch?" The Hound growled unimpressed.

Arya glared at him, "Oh, I suppose you have more interesting dreams, _Hound_?" She called him by his nickname, since he refused to use her real one.

"I don't dream. Not the way you do. I dream of fire, and fighting..." He said plainly, the Hound leaned back on his horse, "and occasionally I dream about fucking a pretty woman, but that's of no interest to you."

Arya rolled her eyes at him again, receiving a hissed reminder from Sansa that ladies didn't roll their eyes. Arya nodded behind her at the Hound, _Really, even in the company of such a vulgar man?_ She said with just a look.

Her sister's eyes narrowed a bit, _You asked_. "Before my dream got scary..." Sansa began suddenly, "I was dreaming about _Lady..._ I wasn't her, like you were Nymeria in your dream, I was just following her."

"Lady...that was your bloody wolf, wasn't it?" The Hound asked, making Arya realize he probably hadn't know who she meant by Nymeria when she was describing her dream.

"Yes." Sansa replied, she leaned back slightly mimicing his movement from a minute ago "I dreamed she was where I had chained her the night that...You know...Except she wasn't chained. When I came to get her, she walked off and I was following her down the road when she disappeared behind a building."

"When I caught up to her," Sansa turned around to look at the Hound, "You were there, petting her."

The Hound's mouth opened and closed a few times wordlessly, like he wanted to say something about that, some rude comment perhaps, but couldn't find one. Sansa continued before something to say.

"That was when I noticed the light coming from behind me, the fire..." She said, "I looked back and there was a burning castle... I wanted to grab Lady and run, but she had vanished when I turned back around."

"Did I take her somewhere?" The large man asked.

"No, you were still there, but you looked at me, directly." Sansa added, turning a little so that she was facing at the Hound, "But your eyes were different. You had Lady's eyes."

He still didn't seem to know what to say about the dream. He tugged on Stranger's reigns suddenly, making the war horse stop. He slid off, "Get your knives out. "Practice those movements I showed you this morning, I'll be right back." He said avoiding the topic by changing it all together.

"Sandor, where are you going?" Sansa asked, climbing off of Stranger.

He seemed to take a pause at the use of his first name, Arya cast her sister a glance that Sansa didn't see. "I'm just going to take a piss. If you need to do the same, do it before we leave again." He replied, "In the meantime, practice."

The Hound continued off. Sansa finally noticed the look Arya was giving her, "What?" She asked, and lifted her skirt to take her knife back out. She seemed to have already forgotten how to hold it, but before Arya could correct her Sansa was readjusting her grip.

"Nothing." Arya replied, "I'm going to go..." She pointed her knife in the opposite direction the Hound had walked off in, "Be right back." Sansa nodded and Arya went to find a place to relieve herself.

She'd noticed over the last few days that Sansa was the only one in this group who used everyone's names. Arya. Sandor. Even if Sandor didn't always respond to his name. Arya herself only called Sansa by her name, and always referred to Sandor Clegane only as the Hound, even in private. He seemed to answer quicker when called Hound.

And he called Sansa Little Bird, Arya was any variation ofWolf Bitch that amused him. She wondered about the origin of this 'LIttle Bird' business, and why talking about dreams was nonsense but silly nicknames were not.

The Hound wasn't a monster like his brother was, Arya decided when she started to head back to the horses. He was more like a big child who didn't know how to play with anyone smaller than him. And unfortunatetly, most people were smaller than him.

The Hound was already back and helping Sansa with the knife fighting when Arya returned. He grabbed Sansa's arm making her drop her knife. He yanked her closer to him and pointed his own knife at her throat, "You're dead." He growled, then released her when he noticed Arya had come back, "Did you see her mistake?"

"That she's wearing a dress while fighting with a knife?" Arya shrugged receiving a glower.

"Plenty of women can use a knife in a skirt." The Hound told her.

"My handmaiden back at King's Landing had a knife." Sansa added and tapped her leg where her hidden strap was, "That's where I got this idea." The Hound gave a single approving nod before he turned his gaze back to Sansa.

_Seven hells, does this man ever blink?_ Arya wondered. She tried to match his gaze, but her eyes started to dry, apparently long before the Hound's did, and she ended up blinking twice.

"What do you know about killing a man?" He asked suddenly, still looking at Arya and still not blinking. His size, and this ability to stare down at her was very intimidating, she bit her bottom lip praying that she wasn't shaking or anything.

Arya tried again not to blink when she replied, "I thought we were talking about what Sansa did wrong?" She blinked a second time just as she finished speaking, the Hound had yet to, she continued answering his question "You kill a man by cutting his throat, taking out an eye, ripping out his belly, stabbing him in the heart-"

The Hound finally blinked, an almost calculated move to further intimidate her. "-Do you know where the heart is?" He looked away from her, back to Sansa, "You were aiming for my heart. Show me where it is."

"I was under the impression you didn't have one." Arya muttered to herself, not quietly enough because both the Hound and Sansa glared at her.

Sansa leaned down to pick up her dropped knife and pointed it's tip at the center of the Hound's chest. "Here." She said.

He pushed the blade away from the middle of his chest, to the side a little, "_Here_." He corrected, "It's a common mistake, thinking the heart's in the center, that's how people live." He looked at Arya when he said this, reminding her of her failed attempt on his life, "And this is how you kill them."

_That's how I'm going to kill you._ Arya remembered to only think this, but as an after thought, added to herself, _Once we get to the twins and we don't need you anymore._ Except that Sansa wanted him to escort them to Winterfell when Rob reclaimed it. _After we get to Winterfell then._

Her plans to kill the Hound and avenge Mycah seemed to keep getting pushed back, mostly by Sansa's doing. Arya could privately admit that she wasn't as good with a blade as she boasted, but she was certain she could take care of herself. Sansa, on the other hand, was only a little more than two of them would never make it on their own. Better to have the Hound accompanying them, for Sansa's sake.

But that wasn't how Sansa saw it. She saw him differently than her sister did, and Arya knew that look: that was her _Jonquil and Florian_ look. Arya had to wonder again if Sansa realized she was doing that. The Hound was a terrible ungodly man, a brute and a murderer not a hero from one of her songs. What would it take to make Sansa see that?

"Wolf Girl." The Hound barked suddenly, "Your stance is too wide, get your legs in position and bend your knee."

They practiced with slow movements, far too slow for a real fight, but the purpose was so that the sisters had a good understanding of how to use the knives. Arya's biggest problem was that she was used to a sword and having trouble adjusting, it annoyed her that the Hound praised Sansa's progress (if what he was doing could be called 'praising') more than hers.

Gods, what she wouldn't give to have Needle back, or a bow and arrow.

Finally the Hound told them to put the knives away and get back on the horses. This time he refused to humor Sansa's request to ride with him, for that Arya was relieved. Sansa declined help onto the brown mare that the girls were riding, choosing to walk instead, the Hound didn't argue.

Arya decided to walk for a while too, it would be good for them to use their legs, and this seemed to be the only thing all three of them agreed to. They walked in a line, the Hound and Arya were quick to pick sides of Sansa so the elder Stark daughter walked between them and the horses were pulled along beside them.

It was quiet again, Arya caught sight of the sword Gendry had forged as it banged against the Hound's hip, "Can I see Firebird again?" She asked. Arya knew that he hated that name, he hated that they named the sword, and he hated what Gendry had done to it. She called the sword by than name because she knew it would piss him off.

He turned toward her with narrow eyes, but unsheathed the blade, "It's not Firebird, it's just a sword." He said passing it in front of Sansa to Arya.

Sansa looked a little hurt that he refused to use the name she'd given it, "Don't you like the name Firebird?"

"I told you, only _cunts_ name their swords." He said bitterly. "You can call it Firebird all you like, but that's not it's name,_ it doesn't have a name_."

Arya almost sensed a story behind this opinion, if she gave a damn about what the Hound thought, she might of asked why he thought so. Instead, Arya noticed how wounded by this Sansa looked, and how angry the Hound was over this business with his sword, and saw the perfect opportunity to drive a wedge between them.

"All the best swords have names though." She said, taking the blade from the Hound when he handed it to her. It was far too heavy for her, but she remembered her lessons from Syrio, she had to become stronger.

Maybe she could wield Firebird herself one day.

"And they're memorable." Sansa added, getting her dreamy _Jonquil and Florian_ look again, "People remember swords with names, tell stories about them and write songs."

Neither sister had any way of knowing this was _exactly_ why Sandor had _no _desire for his sword to have a name, but he growled at them, "I don't want stories or songs about me or that damn sword!"

He was falling for it, Arya continued to bait him into losing his temper completely, "But what about the honor of your house?" She asked, "Your brother might be be the head, but he's a _real_ monster, wouldn't you like for at least _one_ Clegane to be remembered in a good way?"

Bringing up Gregor was a mistake, Arya wasn't sure how, but the Hound seemed to realize right then what she was up to and snarled out "Stories and songs only exaggerate or cover up. They don't tell the truth only lose it. In a thousand years, I'll be a _bloody knight_, 'Firebird' will be a _magic sword_, _she'll_ be my _lover_, and _you'll_ be turned to a boy to be _our son_." He growled, "If I'm going to be remembered, I'd rather have it written in an archive of Westori history as a traitor who abandoned the king and traded his prisoners to the enemy than romanticized as some damned fool running away with an imaginary family."

Sansa's face turned red as the Hound spoke and Arya realized how drastically her plan had backfired. Not only did Sansa see why the Hound was so against naming his sword and having songs written about him, but Arya was beginning to understand too. She didn't say anything for several seconds, but finally sighed and handed the sword back to the Hound. "Well, if you get us back to mom and Robb, maybe they'll write songs about you anyway." She said, no longer trying to push for an argument but not accepting defeat.

"I doubt it." He replied, putting the sword away. "They don't write songs about men like me. They write songs about the heroes that _kill_ men like me."

_Or the women who kill them._ Arya added to herself, but just for a brief moment she wasn't sure she wanted to kill the Hound. If her story ever got put into songs, what would they change when the legends told of how the Hound brought her back to her family? Would she still be avenging Mycah, or murdering the man that saved her?

She hated that he was right about those songs.

"That's not true," Sansa said, "In the North they'll write about how the Hound left King Joffery and reunited the daughters of House Stark with their family. Imagine what else they'll write about you if you stay."

"I imagine they'll write that I did nothing more in service to the North but be a guard dog." He replied, he went quiet for a moment or two before continuing with a final comment to drop the subject. "Call the sword Firebird all you want. Call it whatever name you want. Call it fucking Cuntboner for all the shits I give, just don't expect _me_ to use the name. Understand?"

"I understand." The sisters muttered.

"Good, now I don't want to hear anymore about it." He stopped suddenly and pointed ahead of them, "Look there, the Red Fork. If we follow it we'll reach the Twins in a few days, we might even make it in time for the wedding."

"And if we don't?" Sansa asked nervously.

"And if we don't, your uncle is marrying one of the Frey girls," the Hound explained, "Odd as it may sound, that makes you family. Surely Lord Walder Frey can spare a room or two for a few days while we find out where your brother and mother went, or at least get a raven to them. Might even have a few gowns to spare. Would you like that Little Bird, some fresh pretty dresses?"

Sansa nodded and straightened the skirt of the faded green one she was currently wearing. "Lord Frey has lots of daughters and grandaughters, right? There may even be some dresses for Arya too."

Arya made a face the second those words came out of Sansa mouth, "I don't want to borrow any of their dresses." she hissed, "I'll be happy to just keep these." She brushed off her trousers.

Sansa turned and glared at her, "Mother will want you in a dress for the wedding." She said.

"But we might not make it in time for the wedding." Arya argued.

"Mother will still want you to be wearing a dress when she sees you." Sansa told her.

"And _when_ is she going to see me? " Arya frowned, "Is she going to turn around and come from Gods know where when a raven tells her we're at the twins? Or will she see me in a few weeks after Robb retakes Winterfell?"

Sansa opened her mouth and closed it again, trying to find something to say, "Ladies shouldn't be wearing trousers." She blurted after a moment.

Arya wanted to say _well, I don't want to _be_ a lady_, when she just happened to look beyond Sansa and saw the Hound's face. His face was turned just enough to watch them, and his lips were curved up in a very smug smirk.

Immediately Arya realized that he had done exactly what she was trying to do a moment before. The Hound had figured out her game, and _he beat her at it_. Every shed of respect for him she didn't know had built up in the last conversation shriveled up and died in an instant, and she hated him even more than she had before.

"Fine." She told Sansa bitterly, losing both the argument with her sister and the private war with the Hound, "I'll wear a stupid dress for mother."

"And something will need to be done about your hair eventually." Sansa prattled on, "It can be washed for the wedding, but if we miss mom and Robb, there might be time for it to grow out again before we see them..."

Arya stopped listening to Sansa's jabbering and rolled her eyes, as she did so, she saw Sansa had one of her hands clasped around the Hound's arm. He didn't seem to have noticed, in fact he was turned away again stoking Stranger's snout.

Anger flared in her again, anger at him, and at Sansa's apparent fondness of him. She stepped closer to her sister and wrapped both arms around Sansa's in an affectionate way, the way she had when they were much younger. It was a decoy move, to remind Sansa that they were family no matter how they disagreed, while also distracting her from the true purpose of it: to pull her away from the Hound.

Sansa didn't notice it, just smiled and continued talking about what they would be doing once this was all over, as if Arya would ever be interested in any of it. It wasn't until the Hound's arm got tugged, since Sansa hadn't let go of it, that anyone noticed Arya slowly pulling her away.

Nothing might've come of it if the Hound hadn't yanked his arm away, forcing Sansa to stumble and knock Arya over, and because of her hold on her sister, Sansa fell over too. The Hound himself, wobbled on his feet, but managed to remain standing. It was unclear whether he had been trying to free his arm from Sansa's grip or pull her back, but the result of the girls falling over almost got them stepped on by the mare.

The horse whinnied in surprise and trotted back into the pack horse, which reared up in fright, and Stranger stopped in his tracks, stomping his hooves angrily, looking for the source of the disturbance. "Watch what you're doing!" Arya shouted up at the Hound.

He helped Sansa to her feet, but left the smaller Stark girl to pick herself up while he tried to calm his stallion. "Or _you_ could watch you're doing." He snapped back, his lips were turned down in a scowl again, but it was clear from his eyes that he was still trying to bait her into arguing with Sansa again.

Arya stuck her tongue out at him while she brushed dirt off her pants, "Arya!" Sansa exclaimed and started to chide her sister about how ladies were supposed to behave. Behind her the Hound's scowl briefly turned into a smirk before dropping again when Sansa turned on him, "And you! You're a _grown man_, and here you are acting as childish as she is! I don't care what this is about -Mycah, the brotherhood, me,-it ends _now_!"

By the time she was finished, Sansa was shouting, red in the face, and sounded far too much like like their mother. She whirled around on her feet and walked away from them to the mare and made an attempt to climb up by herself.

Arya and the Hound both stared after her with their jaws dropped ever so slightly, and slowly turned to each other with astonished expressions. They both knew who won that round, Sansa herself was the clear victor even if she did need help getting on the horse. He gave Arya a quick this _isn't over _look and went to assist Sansa.

"If you girls like naming things so much, why don't you name these horses?" He said, Sansa muttered a reply that Arya couldn't hear.

Arya declined the Hound's offer to put her back on the horse with her sister and opted instead to walk beside them, opposite of where the Hound continued walking. They both claimed their sides of Sansa, making her an effective barrier against the other's presence.

It wasn't long before the eldest Stark daughter was talking again, this time changing the subject to her plans for when they returned to Winterfell, and offered again to have the Hound stay on as her bodyguard. He still didn't seem keen on the idea, but never brought up his alternate plan to become a sellsword outside of Westeros.

As she listened to Sansa fondly telling him about the surrounding forest and summer snows, Arya realized no amount of her own disliking the Hound could keep her sister from liking Sandor Clegane...


	9. Chapter 9

**Author' Note: ** Once again, I apologize for the delay in updating, but I'm not confident in my ability to write action sequences, so I was very slow writing this. On the plus side, I think this chapter could be my best.

**Warning: **SanSan, Sandor's lustful thoughts, language, violence and horror.

**Disclaimer: **All characters belong to George RR Martin, and the events of this chapter are heavily influenced by his writing in _A Storm of Swords_ and the Game of Thrones season three episodes _The Rains of Castemere_ and _Mhysa_.

A Sword with Wings

When Sandor thought about it, he knew he really ought to be ashamed of himself. He wasn't. But he knew should be. Sansa was barely more than a child, and he would be an old man before she stopped looking like one. This was why he typically avoided thinking about it.

Yet, it was hard not to have carnal thoughts whisper in his mind when Sansa continued to invite him to lay beside her night after night. Following her frightening dream a few nights ago, his presence seemed to ward away her nightmares and not even the Little Wolf Bitch could argue about his actions when it made her sister feel safe.

It was fine in the evenings when the three of them were falling asleep. Arya and Sandor each stayed on their own side of Sansa, he'd leave some space between himself and the Stark girls and lay on his back. However, by morning, Sansa would roll over in her sleep and when Sandor awoke he had to try not to enjoy the feeling of the Little Bird snuggling against his chest. When he was ready to get up, he'd then have to be careful not to wake her before either of the girls opened their eyes and made a scene out of the situation.

Sandor couldn't be completely sure without talking about it, but he was almost certain Arya was aware of his lust for Sansa. And like fuck he was going to bring it up during one of the elder sister's daily attempts at conversation, Arya already had enough reasons to want to kill him. However, she couldn't do anything about it, as he made no obvious advances on Sansa, and Sandor was careful to avoid any situations that would leave him alone with the eldest Stark daughter for any longer than a few minutes.

It drove him mad.

On the other hand, he was absolutely certain Sansa was oblivious to his desires. By keeping his distance and holding his tongue, Sandor continued as he always had with her, but things were different now, and it was getting harder not to wonder what she tasted like whenever she opened that pretty mouth of hers.

Yet that wasn't the worst part.

Every once in a while he'd catch himself staring at her, and then she'd look up at him. Or he'd look up and catch her staring at him. Little things. He kept noticing little things like that. Glances or touches. She'd lean against him while they were walking or clutch his arm. Even now, the way she cuddled him while she slept.

_It drove him mad._

It had to be his imagination, Sandor told himself that day after day, just an old dog's imagination after going so long without a woman. He hadn't laid with a woman in almost a year. Unlike just about every other man in King's Landing, he detested whores, why pay a woman to pretend she loved him when a flagon of wine was less hard on the purse? Still, every once in a while the Hound found himself waking from a drunken tumble.

Sandor opened his eyes and looked at Sansa, his gaze lingering on her mouth, and the way it was open just slightly. He could probably manage just a quick taste before she awoke, it would be easy to convince her she'd dreamed the whole thing, and today could very well be his last chance-

-Fuck.

He was thinking about it again.

Sandor slowly pushed Sansa off him, being careful not to disturb her. There was a stream not far from where they'd camped for the night, the girls could sleep until he returned from washing his face. Ugh, the one thing that was even a remote contender for worst part of this trip was the lack of proper bedding.

Well, that was one thing to look forward to when they reached the Twins. A bath and wine too, his armor needed to be cleaned and he could probably stand to even shave at this point. Maybe someone there would be interested in buying his sword from him.

Sandor splashed some water on his face and looked through the gap in the trees, their destination lay in the distance, they'd be there by nightfall if they found the road, or sometime tomorrow if not. Having both the Stark girls was too big of a risk for Sandor to dare use the main road any sooner than they needed to.

It was also risky for him to come in with them. His face was too recognizable, he'd be identified as a Lannister man and thrown into some dungeon to await judgment. Even if Sansa and Arya both spoke up for him, it would be better if the girls were identified first. He needed a disguise.

Sandor dipped his hands into the stream and washed his face once more before rising to his feet and returning to the campsite. Sansa was awake and trying to rouse her sister, as he approached, the Little Bird looked up at him and he looked away . He moved passed the girls to the horses and rummaged through the supplies for the last of the dried fruit. He'd finally caught a fat rabbit in one of the snares he set every night. Good thing they were so close to the twins, a decent meal would be welcome too.

They broke their fasts and went straight into practicing with the knives. Sandor stood back to observe before instructing. Arya was a quick learner, he'd give her that. She had the will for it, the anger and passion. Her only real problem was that she was a tiny girl in a world that valued big men as warriors. What she lacked in height and weight she made up for in speed.

Sansa though, Sandor thought was holding back. She didn't want to kill anyone, or fight. This knife business was her last defense and they all knew it. She was graceful though, watching Sansa move was enchanting, like a dancer, even if she left herself open for lots of strikes that could get her killed.

The Little Bird would probably never be a fighter.

Since Sandor never expected her to fight, this was for the best he supposed. Better that she just knew ___how_to kill a man, not how to ___fight_them. She could hold her knife right at least, maybe it was time for them to stop pretending she'd ever be any good at it. She was better off sticking to her sewing needles and waiting to reveal she had a knife until a man was so close she couldn't possibly miss a kill blow.

After a time Sandor told them to put their knives away and be ready to go. Sansa put hers back on the hidden strap under her skirt, the Hound looked away from her but could still see the pale flesh of her leg from the corner of his eye. For a moment it was tempting to grab the Little Bird and take off with her on Stranger, leaving Arya stranded, he could make it to Wendish Town or Seagard from here.

The Hound shoved that thought aside, and helped prep the horses, recently named Cloud and Storm. They'd reach the road soon, and after that the Twins. Once the Stark girls were reunited with their family, Sandor intended to leave, offer to stay as Sansa's guard be damned. He promised to take her to her family, nothing more.

He couldn't keep this up much longer.

This though sent an odd feeling going through Sandor, almost like pain, he didn't like it so he considered what he needed to do before they arrived at the twins. They'd crossed a hill the day before, and could see the road from it. Get on the road, that was the first thing, perhaps they'd meet someone whom he could get a cloak from.

The morning passed as they had for the passed few days, with the Little Bird talking about this and that between periods of silence, and the Wolf Girl purposely irritating him for one reason or another. Sandor told himself of how he would be glad to be rid of Arya at least, but the thought had little comfort. He supposed he must be warming up to her too, odd as that sounded.

They reached the road with the sun directly above them. "Time for you to stop that chirping Little Bird." He said, and pulled on Stranger's reins to take the lead. Sansa did as she was told, tightening her hold on Arya as the sisters exchanged a nervous look.

Sandor glanced back at them only once and realized he envied their relationship for two reasons. Firstly, for any form of open affection Sansa showed Arya stirred a pang of jealousy out of the Hound due to his growing desires for the elder sister. And now he was forced to admit to himself that he was envious of their relationship just as siblings. Sandor looked away and forced himself to keep his eyes on the road ahead.

It was several hours before they spotted a shape in the distance, as they got closer Sandor recognized the form of a man kneeling over a broken cart. He glanced to the girls and motioned for them to stay while he slid off Stranger's back and approached the old man.

He was given a typical greeting, "Roads have gone straight to hell , haven't they?" The man was trying to be good humored about his predicament, even though it was clearly costing him.

"Need a hand?" Sandor was already lifting the cart when the man responded, not really paying any attention to what he said, a plan flashed through his head. This cart and the old man's cloak were just what they needed to get through the gates of the twins. The old man was not though.

As soon as the wheel was securely in place, Sandor turned on the man -even as he started to say his thanks- and stuck him. Behind him, the Hound heard the girls gasp, and he took a knife from his belt and moved forward. He meant to kill him, couldn't tell anyone he'd seen them that way, but suddenly he was being pulled back.

Sansa had him by the arm, pulling and begging him not to kill the poor old man. Arya dashed in front of him, placing herself between the two of him, "Don't kill him!"

Killing was a necessity of life, Sandor understood, and they'd had no complains the other day when he had killed those Lannister men. Their objection now served only to annoy him and he shook Sansa off his arm, "Dead rat's don't squeak." He responded and tried to push passed Arya.

Once again Sansa grabbed at his arm and Arya pushed his front, both of them trying desperately to make him stop. Sandor yanked his arm away from Sansa once more and this time she ran ahead of him and join her sister in pushing him back. "Please!" They begged "___Please_don't kill him!"

The 'please' was what finally stopped him, their mercy completely puzzled him. They had no idea who this man was, he could be a Lannister spy for all they knew, or working for Lord Varys, yet the girls pleaded for his life as if he were their own grandfather.

Perhaps he could have ignored ___one_of them. Sansa he was certain he could convince it was necessary to kill the old man, even if it was a regrettable death. Arya he might have even been able to talk into killing the old man herself, he wagered. But both of them staring teary eyed at him, begging like that?

He didn't stand a chance.

Sandor admitted his surrender by sheathing his knife again. The relief on Sansa's face made him regret giving in. "You're very kind. Both of you..." He told them, and his tone darkened a little, "Some day it could get you killed, or worse."

Sansa didn't seem to know what to say to than and instead just looked at the ground to avoid his eyes. Arya stared at him, trying to be hard. Behind her the old man groaned as he regained consciousness, Arya spun on her heels and picked up a large stick that she bashed against the man's head, rendering him unconscious again.

Her elder sister gasped at what she had done, but Arya didn't say a word as she brushed passed them and climbed in the back of the cart. Sandor stared after her, take a little by surprise at her action. He shook his head with a sigh, "Get the horses." He told Sansa, and went to take the old man's cloak.

After some consideration, Sandor decided to remove their supplies from the pack horse and leave the mare with the old man. Stranger and Cloud could pull the wagon easily enough, they didn't need the third one.

Silence fell over them after that. Sansa must be really nervous if she couldn't manage her usual chirping, and Arya didn't seem to have the will to play the game of annoying Sandor, even when he spoke up once to deliberately provoke the younger Stark sister.

Normally, this was ideal for the Hound, some peace and quite for once was all he'd wanted for days. Yet now, the Stark's combined nervous silence was putting him on edge. A few hours from now they'd be reunited with their family, and he intended to go his own way, perhaps never to see them again. He still had no real plan for what would be come of him after...

Dark clouds shifted overhead, Sandor quickly decided that the change in weather was probably behind the gloomy mood setting on him. The thought of parting with Sansa, and yes even Arya, with his indecision about his future, and to top it all off, it was going to rain. How absolutely perfect.

Seven hells, the girls deserved better than this, they were on their way home, the sun could be shining bright at least. Sandor grumbled to himself as their destination loomed closer and closer. A strange feeling settled in his gut, more than just nervousness, the Hound shifted and looked down the road.

No one else was on the road, and he could see light ahead of them from feast fires. Nothing seemed out of place, but something felt wrong. He couldn't put his finger on it exactly, but something felt ___very_wrong.

He felt like Sansa was in danger.

That almost made the Hound turn the cart around and head off the road. But he had no reason to suspect anything was amiss, certainly nothing he could explain to Arya, whom he was sure would protest, just a gut feeling that something very bad was about to happen.

Sandor pulled the hood of his stolen cloak over his head when they got close enough. They reached the first tents, a knight and some of his men stood guard, asking the usual questions, 'who are you?' 'what's your business?' 'Who do you serve?' The Hound gave short answers to each one with his face to the ground and punctuated every sentence by saying 'ser', 'm'lord' and keeping a respectful tone that must have made Sansa proud.

The Hound knew knights better than she ever could though. Her courtesies were trained into her, as they were into all high born ladies, and used because she knew nothing else. Sandor used them now because the knight would fall for it. He'd met this man a few times, almost killed him once, perhaps he should have. But the hood over his face hid his scars, and his carefully selected words kept him from taking a second look.

"And them?"

"My sister and my bastard." Sandor answered simply.

"I hope he's not your sister's bastard as well." Some unknown man in the back said.

"I hear that's how kings are made." replied another, followed by a few scattered chuckles.

"Do not jest." Their leader warned, and turned back to him "Why did you bring them?"

Sandor reached behind him and rubbed the base of his spine, "Bad back." He told them, "They're to help me unload if they want to continue living under my roof."

No further questions were asked regarding the girls, but they were still kept longer than Sandor would have liked by this damned fool. At last they were allowed to pass, and they made it through the line of feast tents unmolested. Not much longer now. Only a little further and Sansa and Arya would be returned to their mother. They could enjoy the remainder of the feast, and perhaps he'd even stay day or to. They were safe.

So why was his heart pounding so loudly in his ears?

They arrived at the gates. By this time he was just about ready to start killing any man that tried to stop him from entering. He got off the cart and started helping Sansa get down, when he suddenly paused.

Terrible music was coming from the castle, disjointed, loud, and off key. It was said that Lord Walder's eyes were going, his ears must be too, as well as the whole bloody lot of Freys if this was what they played for a wedding feast. Sandor had been ignoring it, but some melody in the music had caught his attention.

"Something wrong?" Arya asked.

The Hound immediately hushed her, "Listen." He said, and tried to identify what it was he'd heard that had made him stop. Seven hells the musicians were terrible, he almost wrote it off as just his imagination when he heard it again.

Most of the music was so off that the melody was impossible to recognize, but now that he was listening he knew that tune. He turned to Sansa, her eyes were wide and he knew she recognized it too. "We have to get out of here." He growled and hoisted Sansa off the kart and all but threw her onto Stranger.

___And who are you,the proud lord said,_

___that I must bow so low?_

___Only a cat of a different coat,_

___that's all the truth I know._

He'd just cut his horse loose from the cart when Sansa clasped his shoulder trying to use him as a step ladder to get off. "Arya!" her voice made a strange sound, wanted to scream but knowing she shouldn't. Sandor whirled around to find Arya had gotten off the wagon, and just managed to see her disappear around a pile of supplies.

_Bloody stupid bitch!_ He started to run after her when Sansa called out for him, he turned his head briefly, "_Stay there_!" he barked and chased after Arya, cursing the little wolf bitch with every thought in his head.

___In a coat of gold or a coat of red,_

___a lion still has claws,_

___And mine are long and sharp, my lord,_

___as long and sharp as yours._

He caught up to her easily enough, but he was not the first. Three men, Freys from the look of them, had her surrounded. Two of them were on foot and the other on a horse They couldn't know _who_ she was, but they definitely knew she was from the north, and that appeared to be all they needed to know. Sandor drew his sword and cut his way through them to Arya.

___And so he spoke, and so he spoke,_

___that Lord of Castamere,_

The first man went down due to a fault in his armor, just below his neck, where Sandor was able to slice him through with his own blade once he relieved him of it. He dropped the corpse into the mud with a broken sword hilt still sticking out of his throat.

The memory of how his brother had killed that foolish young knight whathisname at the hands tourney flashed though Sandor's mind. A grim reminder that the same blood that coursed through the Mountain that Rides, was his as well.

___But now the rains weep o'er his hall,with no one there to hear_

The second man, the one on the horse, armed with a long axe, put up more of a struggle. After blocking a few strikes aimed at his head, Sandor was able to slice the man's leg causing him to drop the axe, and then the hound knocked him into the mud.

The horse reared, trying to trample him like Sandor's would, but this horse was much smaller than Stranger and clearly not trained for combat. The attempt to crush Sandor beneath it's hooves was an act of panic, Sandor thrust his sword into it's belly and it collapsed on top of it's former rider who had been struggling to stand and free a knife from his belt.

Sandor kept the long axe, and looked for the third man, but he had vanished. So had Arya. ___Damned foolish wolf.__.._War drums were beating now, rather than any foul attempt at wedding themes. Men were leaving the castle and heading for the tents of the Northmen. Sandor regretted leaving Sansa behind as his pursuit of Arya led him further away from her.

He found Arya not much further ahead, the rushing of soldiers to what was now a battle field had slowed her down as she stopped behind piles of supplies and rubble to hide. Beyond the barrels she was hiding behind now, were a group of Northmen who were still feasting, not recognizing the sound of the war drums.

Sandor was still an arm's length away from Arya when men from the castle came forth as casually as if to invite them in for fine ale. He could only watch as the Northmen were slaughtered at their table, Sandor grabbed Arya by the shoulder and hauled her out of a crouching position.

___Yes now the rains weep o'er his hall,and not a soul to hear._

She didn't look at him, possibly thought he was one of them men murdering the Northerners "Let me go!" she hissed, her voice was filled with rage, despair and fear.

Sandor pulled her back, "We have to get out of here." He growled again.

Arya still didn't look at him, but must have recognized his voice, "Mother! Rob!" She struggled against his grip, making him to clasp her with both hands. An agonized howl ripped through the night.

He forced her around to look at the bloodied bodies of the recently butchered Northmen, "Look at them." He told her, "_Look at them_! Do you think your mother and brother are still alive!? _It's too late_!"

___Too late__..._too late, he was too late. Those words burned in his own ears like some nasty accusation and he dragged Arya back. "Let go! I have to save mother!" Sandor covered her mouth and nose, she bit him and he snarled in pain knowing she had drawn blood but refused to release her.

"Stupid fucking little bitch!" In moments, panic, her struggling, and Sandor cutting off her air caused Arya to pass out, he threw her over his shoulder and started back to where he'd left Sansa and Stranger.

Sansa had gotten off Stranger's back when he found them, not where they'd parted but close enough. Cloud was gone, the wagon still where they'd left it, but they didn't have time to go after the supply pack.

Sandor didn't say a word, just tossed Arya onto the horse, climbed on and pulled Sansa up after him. "What's happening?" Sansa begged, her voice was trembling "Mother? Robb?"

Sandor didn't know what to say, he didn't have an answer. All he knew was that the Freys had betrayed her family. "It's too late." He repeated.

___It's too late...too late..._

He got them back to the tents, it was truly a battlefield now. Northmen and Freys were dying in every direction, and the camp had been set ablaze. They were surrounded by leaping flames that, to Sandor, seemed much bigger than they truly were. The echo of his of childhood scream rang in his ears. He grabbed a banner from the field and plowed through as much of the chaos as he could.

Fire, screaming, clashes of steel, more screaming, the smell of burning flesh, the shadow of a man being hung from a tree, and still there was screaming. But that was not the worst part.

The worst part was the chanting.

___"Here comes the king in the North! Here comes the king in the North!Here comes the king in the North!"_

Sandor made the mistake of turning Stranger to see what that was. A group of men marched through the burning field with something raised over their heads. Sandor couldn't tell what it was at first, but when he realized what he was looking at even his stomach turned.

Sansa needed both her hands to keep her sister from tumbling off Stranger's back, Sandor only needed one to hold on to the reigns so he used the other to shield Sansa's eyes from the horror, but there was nothing he could do to cover her ears.

_"Here comes the king in the North!"_The men chanted as they carried Robb Stark's mangled body like some grim trophy, laughing and dancing as they did. His head had been removed and his direwolf's head sewed on in it's place.

Sansa trembled in his arms and his fingers felt wet with tears streaming over her face. Arya stirred, Sandor tugged on Stranger's reigns to get them out of there, but Arya jumped up slightly and he knew she had seen what they had done to her brother too.

"We have to save mother...!" She moaned, "Please..._please_, we're _here,_ we have to save mother!"

Sandor ignored her and bid Stranger to run, taking his hand away from Sansa's face when they had turned around. They had to leave, with this much fighting going on sooner or later some fool with blood lust would attack not caring if they were North or not. He could be killed. The girls could be raped then killed.

They had to leave.

As Stranger wove through the burning tents it finally started to rain. Sandor found no comfort in this, as the fires kept blazing. His whole body was shaking, and his chest tightened in panic. In his eyes the flames only seemed to get bigger in the rain. His face burned with the memory of his mutilation, as fresh as if it had happened only the day before.

He was being followed by fire. Everywhere he went, the flames came with him, it was like he couldn't escape.

Sandor couldn't relax even when they burst through the edge of the camp, leaving the flames at his back. He could still smell the smoke and the searing flesh. He could still hear the screaming, the screaming of men, and the screaming of one little boy.

He also heard crying, Sansa's crying, but there was no comfort for her.

They fled into the darkness, Sandor was blind in the blackness, but Stranger seemed to sense where to go. They road all through the remaining night and into the morning. By first light the rain had slowed to a drizzle, now only the dampness of the earth under Stranger's hooves showed any sign that it had rained at all.

They were back where they'd started, three riders, one horse no supplies, no plan. Well enough, Sandor had no appetite anyway. Stranger's running had slowed to a gallop and a trot, and finally a slow tired walk. Sansa had cried herself to sleep, Sandor didn't know if Arya was awake or not, but the sullen silence left him with nothing but the crushing feeling of failure.

He told Sansa he would protect her, that he would get her home to Winterfell. If the Brotherhood was correct there was no Winterfell anymore, so instead Sandor promised to get her to her family. She had no family any more either, just her and Arya.

The last two Starks, and one of the last Cleganes...

He saw a light from a fire ahead, a small campfire cooking a morning meal. The smell of it made Sandor realize he was wrong, he did have an appetite, and he risked getting closer. He heard the men talking before he could see them, loud and obnoxious...and Frey men.

Their loud boasts about their 'victory' woke Sansa, and Arya if she hadn't been already. The little one slid off Stranger, Sansa hissed for her to come back, but Arya crept closer to the men. Sansa started to climb off after her but Sandor held her down and got off first. When she got off Stranger anyway, he motioned for her to stay back.

He had no idea what Arya was thinking, and her voice was much quieter than the one belonging to the man who told her to fuck off. As Sandor got closer, Arya appeared to be handing something to the one that had spoken, but dropped it and her hand went to her belt as he leaned to pick it up. Sandor knew what she was doing then and rushed to get to her before she got she herself killed.

Arya stabbed the man in the neck several times, screaming in pure fury. The other men rose immediately, but Sandor was already there, with their focus on Arya they hadn't even seen him come up and he was able to thrust his sword through the belly of one man with no fight at all.

Two others came at him, one from each side, he had to duck to avoid one, and step back to avoid the other, he wrenched his sword free of the man he'd impaled and cut through the man on his right. The strike split his side, and he went down, not dead but another strike to his neck almost took the man's head clean off and finished the job.

He turned on the third man, rushing to stay between him and Arya when he saw a fourth shape in the corner of his eye running toward Sansa. He was too busy with this man to do anything, as this one was older and more experienced than the other two, the steel of their swords clanged for at least a minute before Sandor's opponent thrust out his leg, catching him in the knee, forcing him down.

The man thought he had won and paused to give a quick shout of victory, Sandor took advantage of his apparent folly and thrust his sword upward into the man's chest. As the Hound rose back to his feet, this sword dug deeper through weak armor, flesh, muscle and bone until the wing-decorated part of his blade disappeared into his opponent's body and the rest of it burst out of his back.

Sandor ripped his sword free and turned to where he heard Sansa's horrified cry. For a second all he saw was the blood on her hands and splattered over her body and he feared the worst, until he saw the knife she clutched, and the man who attacked her fall to his knees.

He returned to her side, with a limp. Sometime during the fight, either when he'd ducked or when he had been kicked, his ankle had twisted and putting too much weight on it hurt. Sansa was hyperventilating and her eyes were wide with horror. The man was still alive, clutching his belly, where she had stabbed him. He was gasping in pain, the wound wasn't fatal, but he'd die without a maester to patch him up. A long slow, painful death.

Sansa placed a blood covered hand over her mouth and tears streamed over her face. The thought Sandor had the previous morning, about how Sansa was holding back and he knew he was right. The Little Bird could take a man's life, but she was no killer.

Not like him. Not like her bloody sister.

The Hound drew forth his sword again and finished the dying man for Sansa. A mercy killing so he didn't suffer as long. He'd told her once that killing was the sweetest thing, and he still believed it, but he found no joy in killing this morning. The deaths of these men didn't make up for the fact that he'd failed to return Sansa to her mother and brother, or that if he had, then she would also be dead. These lives didn't bring back her family.

Sansa turned around and clutched at him, weeping into his chest as the full horror of everything that had happened caught up with her all at once. Sandor stood there and let her cry for a moment, but then pushed her away from him. "We need to go." He said, "If these men are out this far, there may be others."

Sansa nodded tearfully, Sandor took off the cloak he'd stolen from the old man and wrapped it over her shoulders. He turned around then and grabbed Arya, she stood over the man she killed, there was no remorse on her face, and no joy either. She stood at the bloody mess she'd made with no emotion on her face.

She was putting something back in her belt, not the knife, that was already in it's resting place. Something smaller, she whispered something, "Valar Morghulis..." Sandor had no idea what that meant, or if he'd even heard her right, but thought little of it as he reached for her.

"The next time you do something like that, tell me first." He growled and grabbed her by the arm, shoving her over to Sansa and Stranger. Sandor went to the fire next and took the meat the men had been preparing before their deaths, and made a quick search of their bodies for any coins.

These men weren't far from home, so they didn't have much in the way of supplies, but Sandor didn't intend to stay out in the wild a day longer than they had to. He limped back to Stranger and got the girls back on to the great horse and walked beside as fast as he could. He split the food he had stolen and made sure Sansa and Arya and ate it. It wasn't much but there needed to eat something.

The main road wasn't far, they followed it only an hour before they came across what Sandor was looking for. An inn. He was beyond the point of caring who saw them now. Who would believe these two were the missing Stark girls? Arya, with her hair cropped short? Sansa with her torn up dress and darkened hair? He wouldn't believe it himself if he didn't know. Only their own kin would recognize them. And there was no kin left to recognize them.

As for himself, he was the Hound. Deserter or not, there was no one out this far who would want to cross him. So, he helped a boy get Stranger into the stables so the warhorse could rest, and brought Sansa and Arya in with him as he paid for two rooms, baths, hot meals, and wine.

The order would cost, but the girls needed the comforts. He did too. And as long as there was still coin in his purse, he meant to stay...


	10. Interlude one

**Author's Note: **I like to think about what would change if Sansa went with Sandor after the battle of Blackwater, not just for her, but to the whole storyline. So far in this story, nothing, that's about to change, starting with King's Landing.

**Warning: **Tyrion and Varys are incredibly fun to write.

**Disclaimer: **As always, none of the characters featured in this chapter belong to me, they are the intellectual property of George RR Martin.

A Sword with Wings

Interlude one

Lord Varys was an intelligent man.

No, he wasn't an intelligent man, he was a spider, resting on his web. His connecting threads stretched throughout Westeros and beyond, to places many people didn't even know existed. And no matter how far a single thread stretched, it always lead back to the center of the web where he was waiting.

That was how he got so far, by waiting. No matter how long it took, or how far the information had to come from. The Spider always got what he needed.

This came at a cost when information was time sensitive, however, the rushing of songs down his threads got lost on the way, or threads got tangled. It was incredibly frustrating when this happened. Not for the Spider, oh, he could wait and wait, but the Lions, the Wolves, and all the other mighty creatures, no, they could not bear it.

Such was the case with the missing Stark girl.

Sansa had vanished the night of the Blackwater. All eyes had turned to Lord Varys for information that he did not conclusively have. Only rumors. Only whispers.

He stood in his chamber reading a letter from one of his little birds to the north. He read over the letter several times before a knock came to his door, he was expecting company but he loosened his grip on the paper, prepared to toss it into the fire if that knock was not who he was expecting. "Yes, come on in." He greeted.

Much to his relief, Lord Tyrion Lannister opened his door, yes, just who he had been waiting for. He was former hand of the king, removed from his position upon the arrival of his father and recently named master of coin in place of Petyr Baelish. It had been an odd transition for Tyrion, but so far he seemed to be settling into his new position nicely.

The dwarf closed the door fully before turning his attention to the letter Varys carried, "Any good news?" He asked.

Varys only shrugged slightly and dropped the letter into the flames without a care, "Same as ever I'm afraid. Only rumors and contradicting whispers."

"Any particular rumors and whispers?" Tyrion asked as he came in closer, nodding to the burning letter.

Varys picked his allies carefully, almost as carefully as he picked his enemies. Tyrion was an intelligent fellow, and worth far more than even his own family judged him. A good ally worthy of confidence.

"I don't know what you expect to hear my lord," Varys told him, as he invited the dwarf to sit at his table "As I said, it's much of the same news. One of my my spies swears on his life he saw the Hound take Sansa Stark and flee the city the night Stannis attacked our gates."

"So you've told me, but not the council?" Tyrion accepted a glass of wine the master of whispers offered him.

"I can't very well tell the council something I'm not entirely sure is true." Varys explained, "It was dark, the wildfire made it impossible for the lad to see details of the other figure. Just a girl, approximately Sansa's age. I cannot confirm whether or not Sandor Clegane actually ran off with his king's betrothed.

"_Former _betrothed." Tyrion corrected him around a sip from his cup, "And apparently, Clegane's former king as well."

"Ah, yes, can't forget that." Varys cracked a smile, "What was it, he said? Fuck the knights-"

"Fuck the _Kingsguard_," Tyrion quoted, "Fuck the city, fuck the king.I might have found it hilarious if I wasn't certain we were going to die that night."

"I can just imagine our dear king's face." Varys commented.

"I still giggle when I see it under my eye lids." Tyrion continued, and took another sip from his wine. "But you told me you'd have your spies look into it, and they've come up with nothing?"

Varys gave a light shrug, "Once again, my lord, nothing substantial. The Hound was reportedly seen off the King's Road just outside Sow's Horn, not long after the battle, accompanied by a girl, also around Sansa's age, but dark of hair and commonly dressed."

"Clothes can be changed." Tyrion said, "And hair can be dyed."

"That is true, but would so little information convince your father to spend men out looking for the King's runaway dog?" Varys suggested.

Tyrion frowned, "Hm, I suppose not." He responded, and though his cup was not yet empty, poured himself more wine. "What about the other rumor, of another companion?"

"Yes, not much development on that either. I've heard several songs about someone joining them just passed Harrenhall, they seemed to be on their way to the twins."

"Where Sansa's mother and brother were supposed to be for the wedding of Edmure Tully." Tyrion noted with a grim look on his face. News of the deaths of Catelyn and Robb Stark had not taken long to reach the Red Keep.

"The little bird who told me of this was brought here in chains if, you recall me telling you." Varys reminded him, "Arrested by Lannister soldiers and evidently rescued by the Hound, a High born lady he was escorting for the crown, and his bastard son."

"The Hound was never given and order to escort anyone out of King's Landing." Tyrion mused, "_Ever_."

"And not really the fathering type, wouldn't you agree? Considering his own upbringing." Varys replied, taking the first sip of his own wine, "But that is what my little bird heard, and reported."

"And you've hear nothing since…?" Tyrion was a good man, despite his flaws, he did not want to speak of the horrendous treachery that had taken place at the Twins.

"My lord, we have arrived at the place we began," the Master of whispers said, "The only songs I've heard are the same ones I have been hearing for weeks, with only minor changes in notes."

Tyrion looked up suddenly, as if sensing some hidden truth Varys had missed, "What kind of changes?" He asked. When Varys did not answer he sat a little straighter in his seat, "Surely the master of whispers knows that every detail matters, now what kind of changes?"

The fire crackled and popped in the momentary silence before Varys sighed, "I have one whisper that has reached me that the Hound is currently staying at an inn, a day's ride from the twins, from a reliable source. This song claims that the lady is his _lover_, and that it's _their daughter_ that is traveling with them now."

He watched the logical conclusion that the dwarf had drawn up shatter out of his eyes. Tyrion blinked and made a confused face while he thought over this change in information. Clearly he had been thinking that Sansa had left with the Hound and he'd been taking her to her family, for one reason or another, and they'd merely picked up a straggler from the war on the way.

"Not so easy to discern the truth, is it?" Varys chuckled. "Not when one bird tells you one thing, and a second tells you another."

"I suppose not." Tyrion agreed, "but he has seemed to have stopped for now, right? Your birds can give us more information on it soon."

Varys hesitated to reply, prompting the dwarf to repeat himself, although this time the remark was a question, rather than a statement. "I… I don't know about that Lord Tyrion." Vayrs admitted, "True the Hound seems to have found a place to lie for a while, but other matters have come to my attention."

"Matters more important than finding the only remaining Stark known to be living?" Tyrion raised a brow, "What could be more important than 'the key to the north'? As my Father likes to say."

"Your predecessor, I'm afraid." Varys replied.

"Littlefinger?"

"Lord Petyr Baelish has gone off to wed his lady love, the widow Lysa Arryn." The sarcasm in his voice was not hidden. Everyone with any knowledge of the man knew it was Lady Arryn's sister, the now deceased Catelyn Stark, that Petyr Baelish desired.

"Yes, a great tragedy, I'm sure their both _absolutely miserable_. Well, Baelish at any rate, to my understanding this is Lysa's dream come true." Tyrion looked over his drink at Varys who only stared back at him, waiting for the dwarf to realize what the problem was. "Is there some travesty I've overlooked?"

"Catelyn Stark is dead."

"Yes, and poor Littlefinger must be so devastated. I'm honestly touched by how much you care about your friends dear Lord Varys, but why does this impede you from your search for _Sansa_Stark?"

Varys was a little disappointed that Tyrion couldn't see why this was troubling. "My Lord, you know what a dangerous man Baelish is. And he is no longer in the capital to be kept in check." Tyrion's eyes widened a little, starting to grasp his meaning, "What's worse is that our dear Sansa was growing to be quiet a lovely little lady when last we saw her. Almost as lovely as _her mother_. No doubt, she will only grow lovelier. And she's missing."

"And if Littlefinger finds her first…"

"I'm sure I don't need to elaborate, but yes, I do fear for the girl's well being if Petyr Baelish gets to her before we do," Varys said, " and she's been through _so much_ already."

"So you need some of your birds to be keeping an eye on Littlefinger then." Tyrion concluded, "And the Hound…?"

"So far that song has been nothing more than twittering in the woods. I can spare a few birds to send after him, but it's very likely a dead end. I need to start looking elsewhere." Varys replied, then decided to change the subject. "Might I ask, your thoughts on King Joffery's new betrothed, my lord? Lady Margery certainly seems more than a match for your nephew."

"Certainly seems to be." Tyrion agreed. "More than a match indeed. My dear sister is very suspicious of the Tyrells, but father keeps insisting they can do no harm."

"What sort of harm does your sister think they can do?" Varys replied, thinking carefully about these new pieces that had appeared in their Game. The Tyrells were a powerful family, with lots of influence.

They'd make for worthy allies as well, in the Game. And just as dangerous enemies. This would have to be played out carefully.

"I'm not a suspicious old crone like my sister," Tyrion replied, "She sees them as some kind of personal threat, like she expects them to stab her in the back. She's always like that mind you. But they _are_ an ambitious lot…"

Ambition was good, the lust for power was always easy to bargain with. A plan started forming in Varys's mind. Unfortunately, most of it would have to wait for certain factors to become available. First and foremost, they needed the Tyrells on their side.

Tyrion seemed to see this in his eyes and finished up his wine and set the cup on the table as he leaned over. "So, what do we do next?"

"I think I may have to arrange a little meeting with the Queen of Thorns." Varys replied, "I might ask you to do the same, but your sister could very well find that a bit bold."

"One of these days Lord Varys, I may start insisting you begin to include me on all of your schemes." Tyrion stood up after that, "And I am becoming quite curious as to who's side you're really on."

"Ned Stark asked me that once, and I will tell you exactly what I told him." Varys answered, "I am on the side that best serves the realm. Some one has to be."

"Ah, and the side that best serves the realm is subject to change frequently, is it not?" Tyrion noted.

"Indeed it is." Varys concluded and bid Tyrion farewell, they probably wouldn't be seeing one another until the next small council meeting, but Varys did intend to keep an eye on the dwarf.

After all it wasn't often a spider caught a lion in his web.


End file.
